Dragonrend
by Myrielle
Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

**DRAGONREND **

Quietly, I opened my eyes and stared into the darkness of Sky Haven Temple. There was that curious thrumming, that silent chorus which only I could hear by virtue of the dragon's blood that ran in my veins, blood that I had not known existed until Whiterun, until that stormy day when lightning carved up the sky along with cruel talons and a dragon fell by the combined might of arrows and swords. The killing blow was mine, more by accident than skill; had Irileth not been there, I might not have lived to hear the thunderous roar of the Greybeards, calling me by the name I was now known by. No longer Freyja the Nord, the only thing I could yet remember about my shrouded past, now I was just Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn.

A shudder ran through my frame and I pulled the blankets tightly around me, as though to ward off the memory of myself devouring a soul. Flesh and bone disintegrated to enchanted ash which rose to the sky rather than cleave to the earth and a fire came out of the dead beast, infusing itself with my spirit, wrapping me in hot flames that made me cry out in fear and ecstasy. At first I had been horrified, now I felt exhilarated, as though something inside had been awakened, a stirring that blossomed into a full blown battle cry each time I faced my winged counterparts. But for the body, we were the same beneath the skin.

As the maelstrom inside me brewed, so did the call in my ears. Frustrated, I sat up, threw off the covers and ran a hand over my blonde hair. Pale as the first ray of dawn, Brynjolf had remarked idly once while we were traipsing through the wilds of Skyrim, tracking down Mercer Frey. I had removed the Nightingale cowl in favour of some sunshine and breeze, which had led to his compliment. His on the other hand, stirred like fire in the wind. In spite of the years that separated us, and our destinies, there had always been a frisson of attraction but Brynjolf had always refused to act upon it, not even when I had tentatively tried discussing it.

Pursued by a vague feeling of humiliation, I jumped up, grabbed a thick sleeping robe I had lifted from the Honningbrew Meadery when that nasty piece of work known as Sabjorn still owned it. Briefly, I wondered what had happened to him by now but had long ago decided that someone like him who would send a woman alone and without prior warning to face an insane mage deserved to die for his callous disregard.

Slipping on my boots, I left the room, treading the cold stone floors silently. Esbern and Delphine were nowhere to be seen; the traps would keep us safe and the noise made by any being activated would wake any sleeping Blades. The thrumming hummed in my ears, louder as I passed the hallway. The stone fire stands still burned with low muted flames, empty plates and mead bottles littered one side and I knew Esbern had retired not long ago.

Light played over the frieze wall, shadows shrank and grew, and in their movement, the stone carvings came to life. Great wings moved back and forth, flickering and the low roar in my ears increased. The heat of dragon fire warmed my skin, metal sang and pierced scales, cries of despair and victory rose like twin howls and I did not know how but my feet moved, borne on a strange will and I found myself standing before the centerpiece, Alduin in a tangle of great leathery wings, his body writhing impotently in rage as he was brought low to the ground. A Shout that could bring down a Dragon, a god even. The thought was intoxicating and the fact that I felt that way made me afraid.

The stone never moved but vision clouded my eyes and I could not stop, could not prevent my hands from tracing the stone and my mouth moved but I could not understand all I spoke in the Dragon Tongue. There was a room, books littered every surface and strange writings in different languages were scrawled on paper and the walls. By now the song was so loud it seemed to shake the very foundations of the Temple. Either that or it was tearing me apart.

Feverishly, my palms scraped the jagged edges, curved around the smooth lines. They were chanting, experimenting with different Words of Power, adding on and taking apart. Stone trembled, fire and ice emerged from nothingness, time slowed and finally, for the first time an ancient dragon tumbled from the sky. But it did not stop. The room returned, darker now and there was only one person, a man wreathed in shadow whose face I could not see and whose voice whispered frantically in my ears. A Master of the Voice, a secret Shout not known to the others.

My hands drifted lower, seeking that which had been hidden, reaching for the man who stood beneath the falling dragon. Then my hands touched his face, my fingers brushed the mouth and I felt lips move. Light pierced my eyes as Words of Power sprang to life, emblazoned on the wall and they were brighter, more dreadful than any other Word.

I think I screamed as the Shout transcended my flesh and wrote itself in my mouth, on my soul.

* * *

><p>Cold stone pressed against my cheek; I was lying on the floor at the foot of the wall. My limbs would not obey the order to move and it was then I realized how bruised I felt, as though several Draugr deathlords had combined their Unrelenting Force Shouts and sent me through a mountainside.<p>

"Why is this happening?" I whispered, thankful to find I could still speak. Learning the other Words of Power had never harmed me before. Summoning my strength, I focused on the refreshing chill of the stone, muttered the healing spell and relaxed as warmth suffused my battered body. It took several castings before I felt sufficiently strong enough to get up. On shaking legs, I made it to the table before sinking into a hard chair and grabbing the first opened bottle of mead I could see. Heedless of whoever's mouth had preceded mine, I downed the remainder and did the same with the next two bottles I could lay my hands on.

The mead did little to ease the feeling that I had somehow been violated, entranced into performing something I had no knowledge about and no will over. Turning around, I glared at the now silent wall. Everything had gone back to the way it was before and the Words were now hidden. For a moment I wondered if it had been nothing more, just a trance. And then it came back, the foreign words which shaped my lips and tongue and found existence in the faint whisper it drew from them. The air seemed to shiver and the fires on the stands leapt violently in response. 'Alright, not just a trance then,' I thought. 'But why me?'

…_Last of the Dragonborn…_ Arngeir's words resonated in the stillness. _There are no others, at least none that we can tell of… _

The last time Aiduin had been brought down, there had been Three Masters of the Voice. But none of them Dragonborn. Perhaps whatever fate had dragged me back to Skyrim had a hand in this; perhaps it would be impossible for me to bring down the World Devourer by myself without additional aid. Something from the past had reached into the present and I was left to discover the repercussions.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you wish to journey alone?"<p>

Delphine looked sceptical as she watched me don my Nightingale armour. I could sense her disapproval as I pulled on the Ancient Cowl of the Assassins, my way of honouring an assassin who had seen me fit to wear his robes, and of acknowledging my link to the Dark Brotherhood. I was after all, their leader although I often left them to their own devices and I only listened to 'Mother' whenever I had need of coin. Some killings were necessary, but I did begrudge the fact that I was used to settle petty quarrels as well. Delphine had been horrified to discover my link to the Dark Brotherhood but realized there was more harm than good to be done if she forced me to sever ties with them.

"Yes," I replied as I strapped my Nightingale Blade to my back and picking up my Daedric Sword, fastened it to my side. An Elven dagger hung at the other hip; I carried no shield. "You have no love of the Greybeards and I would not be so cruel as to take Esbern from all the Blade Lore he has found here."

A smile that others would have termed gentle briefly touched Delphine's face before it vanished. I suspected sometimes that this hard woman who had survived years of Thalmor persecution felt fondness for her fellow Blade because they were the only two left. "That is true. Besides, I need to train Onmund. He has the makings of a fine Blade."

I used building up the Blades as an excuse to both of them. The truth was, I had fallen asleep at the table and somewhere between dreams and waking, an idea had been conceived in my head and I had no intention of letting it go until I had tried it. Delphine and Esbern would probably lock me up in the Temple if they knew what I was planning and the last thing I needed was to worry about the life of any follower I brought along. I could still feel the tears of guilt and sorrow as I placed the last stones over Jenassa's burial mound. That would be the only time I brought someone with me when I was not even certain of besting my opponent.

"There may be others. When I find them, I will bring them to you. It's time the Blades arose again." Outside the Temple, Shadowmere waited. He whickered upon seeing me and not for the first time did I wonder how he had spent the night. Delphine followed a few steps behind, eyeing him warily, especially when he shook his head at her and chomped on the bit, revealing white teeth. Tying my knapsack to the saddle, I double-knotted it, tugged a few times to make sure it was secure, and swung myself up on Shadowmere. His coat was thick but it did not glisten as an ordinary horse's would in the light. The only things that gleamed about Shadowmere were those unnatural eyes, red like coals. If I ever met the Headless Horseman that was rumoured to haunt the roads of Skyrim, chances were that his horse would run from mine.

Raising a hand in salute, I waited until Delphine returned the gesture before wheeling Shadowmere around and heading down the slope at a brisk trot. I hope she did not still see me as she originally had. "A mere slip of a girl," she had exclaimed. "I could not believe it when rumours pointed to you being the Dragonborn."

Training had put muscles on my lean frame but most opponents still took it for granted that I was no threat until the fight began in earnest. Most of them only saw a relatively tall, slim woman with blonde hair and ice blue eyes. Usually it was the fact that I was a woman that made most of them complacent, especially the thieves and brigands I encountered while travelling. By the time they learnt their lesson, they were on their way to the netherworld while I relieved them of their worldly goods.

When I was sure Delphine could no longer see me, I withdrew the crumpled map I had stuffed into my boot. "Freyja, Freyja, where will you go next?" I murmured almost subconsciously. It had always been a habit of mine, talking to myself. Sometimes, I could almost swear I could hear another voice in my head calling me by my name, a man's voice. It could have been my father; I doubted I would ever know. I could not even remember how I had ended up on that prisoners' wagon with Ulfric Stormcloak.

"X marks the spot indeed," I crowed as my eyes settled on my next destination. Shadowmere neighed softly as I tugged on the left rein, indicating which path he should take. All around, the valley was still, save for the rushing waters that took along the bodies of the Forsworn I had slain the day before. The scent of rancid blood and bloated flesh tainted the air and I could smell it through the mask of the cowl. Though I could sympathise with the Forsworn, their savagery and pigheaded refusal to let me pass their camps unmolested had prevented me from doing so. Instead, I felt perverse satisfaction in plundering their sites and killing off whoever challenged me, which usually meant slaughter because the Forsworn would not give up.

I lifted up my eyes to the mountains of Karthspire. Somewhere on those mist-wrapped heights lay a dragon burial mound. I hoped it was yet unopened. There, I would await the Devourer of Worlds.

* * *

><p>It had been two weeks now and while I was sure dragons were out there wreaking havoc in Skyrim, I was even more certain that Alduin would arrive. He had to.<p>

A small cave nearby provided shelter from the driving rains and bitter cold as I watched the skies. Occasionally, a wild bear would amble up and once, I had been awakened to find Shadowmere locked in fierce combat with a sabre cat. These were easy enough to dispatch with a few quick blows but it was the sword which was a true marvel and I was once again glad that I had forged it. Flesh and bone knit back even as I stabbed the blade into the bodies of my enemies, draining their life force to heal myself. The Nightingale Blade had stronger enchantments but the metal was not as strong, nor did it make blood run the way the Daedric blade did.

Plucking at the scant grass around my boots, I watched as Shadowmere stood silently beneath a tree with few leaves, its gnarled branches like skeletal fingers raised to the sky. He never cropped grass, never drank, never slept but kept watch over me like a silent sentinel. No wonder Lucien Lachance had never forgotten him.

Then, it finally happened. I was burying the remains of the rabbit beneath sand and grit at the back of the cave when Shadowmere neighed furiously and thundered past the entrance. "Damnation and the Nine Divines," I cursed as I grabbed my sword and ran out to see a great black dragon wheeling above the mountaintops and my horse, pawing defiantly at the sky in challenge.

Jumping over the stones and a small rocky outcrop that barred the way, I landed hard, cursed as I almost slipped and clawed my way back to balance as I charged onwards. I could not afford to engage two dragons in battle and live, not if one of them was Alduin.

High above he flew, jagged ebony on wings of fear, his voice a low mellifluous thrum of evil that shook the mound I stood on. "Alduin, World's Bane!" I roared as I raised a hand to the sky. Fire erupted from flesh, flowed like a white red extension of my skin before it was thrust into the air, a bolt of destruction that he easily evaded. But now I had his attention.

"Dovakiin!" He turned my title into a venomous curse, a battle roar as he swooped low, so close the draft from his wings almost knocked me from my feet. A barrage of flames singed his belly; I was not going to let any opportunity slip by. He roared in fury, rather than rage and the mountains rang with it; I could hear rocks slide loose and fall into the valley below.

"You arrogant human fool!" And then a rush of heat seared the air around me and I threw up a greater ward wall just as a sea of flames surrounded me. From behind the blue glow of my protective spell, the heat singed and I could smell the earth around me burning. Beneath my feet, sand turned to glass. My arms ached, sweat poured down my brow and into my eyes, stinging them and obscuring my vision. I could feel the flames physically pressing in on me. How long was Alduin going to keep this up, I wondered and found myself praying to the Divines that this onslaught would end soon.

Just as my knees were about to buckle, the flames vanished, punctuated by an infuriated roar. "Not as weak as you imagined," I taunted, hoping he would not hear the slight pant in my voice. "Come down from on high, Alduin who was vanquished, and let history repeat itself."

The sentence had not yet left my mouth completely when he broke off in midflight and headed straight for me. I raised my blade in challenge, fire still gleaming from one hand as I waited. Behind me loomed Shadowmere, his presence more a support than actual help. At least he would die to live again, I thought, comforting myself, if it ever came to that.

He was not going to stop, I realized, my eyes snapping wide open at Alduin's enraged headlong rush. He meant to crush me on the mound, along with the dragon bones beneath. It was now or never.

Air rushed into my lungs, filling my nostrils, every cell swelling with a simmering power that could never be fully comprehended. Dragon's blood awoke and I could feel the change sweep over me. Everything became clearer, sharper, colours brighter, I could smell snow on the air above the smoke and fire, smell him as he bore down on me.

My spine curved as my body gathered itself, arched as I lunged forward, head thrown up and from my mouth the secret Shout ripped out, an inhuman roar, a dragon's roar in Dragon Tongue that tore the sky in a blaze of blue as it met Alduin in the air. My strength followed, sucked out from my flesh by the force taken out of my being, greater and more draining than any other Shout previously experienced.

The edges of reality blackened and I fell to the ground, desperately clinging onto consciousness as above me, Alduin screamed so loudly that I feared for my life. Then Shadowmere was there, grasping my cloak between his teeth as he dragged me at a gallop from the burial mound onto the sickly green grass, saving my life as the great black dragon crashed down upon the spot where I had lain.

From a safe distance I watched, Shadowmere's cool muzzle against my cheek as he nudged me. Alduin screamed again, writhing and thrashing on the ground, gleaming blue with the Shout that bound him, his tail tearing up the earth and scattering the long dead bones of the dragon he had been about to resurrect. Trees fell to his struggles, the rocks and stones were crushed into pebbles, and the repeated snapping of jaws, the gnashing of great teeth rent the air.

Commanding Shadowmere to lay down, I fumbled for my knapsack, dug out a large green bottle and downed the Stamina potion in one gulp. The icy cold sensation spread from my throat to the tips of my toes and scalp, reviving as it melted away the fatigue. Attempting to stand, I held on to Shadowmere's withers and then flinched, burying my face in his flank against the sudden explosion of light. Only when he whickered did I look up.

Alduin was gone.

Dumbly, I stared at the scene. Had he died? Imploded into nothingness? Did gods not leave behind corpses? Grasping my sword, I summoned fire once again and approached, warily. The mound was a mass of churned up rubble and destruction. Here and there, white fragments of bones dotted the scene. Kicking them out of my way, I climbed to the top of the mound, hoping to witness Alduin's fallen body crushed at the bottom.

The last thing I expected to see there lying on the brown dirt was the body of a man. A man who was as naked as the day he had been born. "What in the name of Mara…?" I muttered as I hurried down, boots digging into the earth as the fiery blaze left my hand and was replaced by the warm comforting glow of a healing spell. Since when had a traveller passed the battle scene without my knowledge? And why had he no clothes on?

Sheathing my blade, I knelt beside him and pressed two fingers to his neck. His pulse was shallow and rapid but most importantly, present. His smooth pale skin, Nord skin, was unblemished; there were no visible injuries I could find, not even when I turned him gently to examine his back. He was extremely tall, and the lean muscle on his large frame seemed to indicate a warrior's life or a man who worked hard for his living. His palms though, were smooth, which was a puzzle. I would have taken him for a Nord, except for the shoulder length hair, black as ebony, that crowned his head. As I pressed a hand to his forehead, whispering the healing spell, his eyes fluttered open and that was when I noticed their unusual colour. The irises were pale golden-amber, and the pupils were blacker and more slanted than any I had ever seen, almost like a cat's.

Then they narrowed and an expression that could only be called rage entered them. He hissed viciously and as I snatched my hand back, he attempted to bite me. "By Talos I am not trying to hurt you!" I exclaimed. "Be still else I will not give you my help." An empty threat, a habit I had yet to break completely.

His brow furrowed in confusion but he twisted his head away as I attempted to place my hand on him again. Garbled sounds issued from his lips and I could see he was becoming more frustrated by the second. Then, he happened to glance down his body and froze. I assumed it was because he had no clothes.

Those amber eyes snapped back to mine and I had the strangest feeling I had seen them somewhere before. And then with great effort, he spat out something that chilled me to the bone.

"…Dovahkiin…"

I was right; I had seen them before.

Rolling away, I came up in a crouch, my sword out and singing in for the killing blow when I halted my arm in mid-strike.

Alduin, World's Bane, Destroyer of Worlds, Devourer of Souls, had passed out.

"Come on Freyja, do it! Now!" Delphine and Esbern would have hacked him to pieces by now, conscious or not. The Jarls to whom I was Thane would have ordered me to do so.

The Daedric Blade whispered that it needed Dragon Blood once again.

Sword touched flesh, pressed hard enough to open the skin and out came the blood. It was red, as red as mine. He was both dragon and man. 'Like me,' came the thought, which I hastily brushed away. But more importantly, he was naked and helpless and if I struck him down now…

With a loud curse, I climbed back up the mound and whistled for Shadowmere to approach. I knew exactly what I was going to do to my worst enemy.

I was going to cloth him as best I could and find the nearest inn.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I was unsure if this story would even make sense and it was a big help to hear from you. Your comments made the Muse sing and this chapter is the result._

**DRAGONREND **

**II. **

I had every intention of making good on my intentions. Unfortunately, Shadowmere—faithful, obedient and ever present Shadowmere—knew Alduin for what he was even in the form of a human and promptly refused to carry him.

"Come back here!" I ordered imperiously, only for him to look down his nose at me as he danced out of reach. For a moment, it reminded me of Astrid and the resemblance was startling at best, chilling at worst. I was unlucky; I could never remember her as being the beautiful, snow-skinned, lithe assassin. All her name conjured up now was charred flesh horrendously arrayed on scorched ground and an overwhelming feeling of being suffocated by betrayal and the mantle of leadership she had laid upon me. I, who had been half-forced into the Dark Brotherhood, who had never really wanted to kill except in self-defense. Spilled blood fed the dragon soul inside me and I never wanted to fall into the trap the dragons had all those eons before.

"Shadowmere, it is only for awhile. Less than a day's journey," I reasoned, edging closer. I made a grab for the reins, only to risk toppling over as the dratted beast yanked his head sideways and avoided my hand.

Stomping on the ground, I resisted the urge to use a Shout on him. "The man is naked and if we leave him here, he'll be food for beasts." Shadowmere showed me his teeth before looking over my shoulder at the mound, a devilish gleam in those red eyes. "No, that is not an offer to feed you. You don't even eat."

The horse snorted contemptuously in response. "I'll tell Lucian," I threatened feebly. "I'll summon him right now and tell him how pig-headed you are being…Oh by Talos, Mara and Arkay, Sithis even!" I swore, kicking the dirt, nails pinching into palms as I curled my hands into angry fists. "Very well, be off with you then! I'll do it myself."

Turning on my heel, I stalked back to the mound and almost tripped in my furious haste. "Dragonborn savior of the world indeed," I muttered derisively. Sometimes I think I killed Titus Mede the Second simply because his dumb-as-mules Imperials had torn me out of whatever I had been doing and almost chopped off my head. If they had not done that, I would never have fallen into my fate. I could not remember what I had planned for my life but running all over Skyrim and into every conceivable dungeon and danger probably would not have been ranked very high on that now lost list.

Alduin was still out. Unclasping my cloak, I knelt, hands beneath his arms as I pulled him half up to rest against me. For a man who had been lying exposed to the air while his would-be helper quarreled with her horse, he was rather warm. And he had the longest lashes I had ever seen on a man, I realised as I fastened the cloak's clasp at his throat. "Great Freyja, envy the dragon's eyelashes, why don't you?" Delphine and Esbern would not just denounce me; they would, in all likelihood, try to kill me in an effort to erase the disgrace that I was to all Dovahkiin that had been and were to be.

"Now, how do I move you?" I could not toss him over my shoulder unless I wanted to break it and lose my balance. In the end, I settled for hooking my arms beneath his armpits and dragging him up to the edge of the burial mound. It worked, but there was a clear trail left behind and both man and Nightingale cloak were now dirt-streaked. "Damnation," I cursed. Brynjolf would be laughing now, shaking his head and murmuring "Lass", I could just imagine it. If only he had taken my offer and come with me…

Pushing out all thoughts of my redheaded second-in-command, I continued dragging Alduin forward. With any luck, we would reach Old Hroldan by the next century. If we were not set upon by brigands, bears, sabre cats, Thalmor guards armed with a writ of execution on my head… There was also the occasional troll and stray witch to consider. And there were no farms nearby for me to 'borrow' a horse. "Double damnation."

Shadowmere watched as I dragged Alduin past him, keeping off the rough roads and away from stones. The last thing I needed was for him to start bleeding and for me to waste precious Magicka repairing unavoidable and repeated damage.

Travelling this way was, literally, a pain in the neck. I had to keep looking over my shoulder to watch where we were going and keep an eye out for enemies. "I hope you are happy," I called out sourly to Shadowmere who followed several paces behind. He could have run two circles around the mountain and found us in the same area. "Some fellow Assassin you are. Astrid told me you were reliable. And there happens to be that little fact about me being the Leader of the Dark Brotherhood."

And then I heard it, the sound of fire exploding, and the smell of burning grass assailed my nose. Whipping around, in the distance I saw two figures, one robed in black and the other in tanned leather armour. Oh dear gods, this was the last thing I needed. Crouching low, I scuttled, and rather quickly too since I was dragging a man twice my size along with me, towards Shadowmere. "Get down and let me put him on your back now or that Vigilante will be coming after you as well, you undead equine Assassin," I hissed as I approached him. Thankfully, good sense and the sense of self-preservation prevailed; he did as I commanded.

With Alduin slung over Shadowmere in the front, I leaned down, pressing my arms on him, reins wrapped around my hands as Shadowmere headed deeper into the wood at a fast canter. We would have to go off the road and that would cost us a precious hour or two, maybe even three. But anything was better than being caught in a frenzied fight for survival, given my currently unconscious baggage.

"Thank you, friend." Shadowmere snorted as I ran an appreciative hand over his dark withers, but it sounded less mocking than before. "We'll be at the inn before evening and you'll be rid of him then." High above, the sun filtered down through the leafy branches and burned the grass where there was little to no shelter. It was probably close to noon. That was a blessing, at least. Night tended to bring out more unsavoury characters, like the vampires. Just thinking about that particular branch of undead was enough to raise the fine hairs on my arms and neck. The sooner we were under a solid roof, the better.

* * *

><p>In all the short time that I had seen him, Leontius was either perched out at the entrance to the inn, resting on the railings and pontificating in the dark. It was either that or chopping wood, which he was doing at the moment I came riding up. Dark brown brows rose and crinkled an already grooved forehead as he noted the man slung in front of me, as well as his bare feet and legs. Forcing a smile of greeting, I dismounted and in a hasty rush to avoid his curious stern gaze, I attempted to pull Alduin off Shadowmere. 'Big mistake,' was my last thought before all six feet something of muscle and flesh slipped forward and fell on me. Instinct wrapped my arms around him, trying to cushion him with my body. And then the ground hit my back, driving the air from my lungs as I wheezed in pain. "That hurts," I croaked. When I opened my eyes, Leontius' face had blocked out the watery yellow evening sky.<p>

"You need some help."

"Is it that obvious?"

His expression did not change as he continued staring down at me. "Sorry," I mumbled.

Those piercing black eyes left me then and he proceeded to heave Alduin off me. "This man is naked," he said, consternation and shock erasing his usually stoic mask.

"Is it that obvious?" I quipped, getting back on my feet and bemoaning the twinge at the base of my spine. Grabbing Alduin's other arm, I slung it over my shoulder, only to realise Leontius was still staring, perhaps even glaring at me. "Oh no, I did not have anything to do with him being naked." The Assassin and Thief in me cheered in approval at my bald-faced lie. "It was probably brigands who robbed and left him for dead. I couldn't very well leave him lying by the road right?"

Leontius did not look convinced but at least he was helping me drag Alduin towards the inn. "He does not even have a loincloth on."

"You know robbers. Scum of the earth with no morals or hygiene." Eydis looked up angrily when I kicked the door open but her eyes went round with shock when she saw Leontius and I struggling with our unconscious bundle. "What happened to him?"

"Robbers with no hygiene or morals," Leontius deadpanned, inclining his head slightly in my direction.

"Upon Talos' godhood, I did not strip this man naked or harm him in any way," I hissed. "Eydis, a room please, if it is available."

She showed us to the one that I had previously rented, the one Tiber Septim himself had used. How ironic, I thought, letting Alduin fall on the bed with a loud thump. Here was the bane of the Dovahkiin, rescued by the present incarnation of the latter and sleeping in a bed occupied by the famous one of us all.

"I'll see to him." Leontius turned, managing to edge me away from the bed.

I did not know which to be more insulted over: that Leontius obviously thought me capable of violating an unconscious man or that he must have thought me so uncomely that this must be the only way I could have a man. Maybe he didn't fancy blond hair and blue eyes or skin so white it might have been milk, but some men did, I thought furiously. I opened my mouth to scold, and then changed my mind, smiling saucily instead. "Don't worry Leontius, there will be plenty of time for me to tend to him later. He'll be well taken care of, all night long." And with that, I sauntered out. Eydis passed me, a steaming washbasin in her hands with towels draped over her shoulders. She shot me a puzzled look but I was too weary to care.

"Skuli, some roast beef and mead, if you please." Sinking down into my chair, I pulled off my cowl and dropped it on the table, soaking in the heat from the roaring hearth and finally feeling the heaviness in my bones. In spite of the Stamina potion, I had tired a lot faster than expected and it probably had to do with that mysterious Shout. I still did not comprehend the words but at least now I knew what it could do. I would have a very unhappy dragon-man on my hands when he awoke. The thought of dealing with him made my head ache and I grimaced, even as Skuli approached, armed with a platter of meat swimming in rich golden gravy, some bread and a bottle of mead.

"Thank you lad," I ruffled his red hair affectionately before placing enough septims to cover the food and rent for the next two days.

"I'll draw up a bath for you when you have finished. In the other room of course, since you are a right proper lady." Merry brown eyes twinkled and I wondered how much of my conversation with Leontius he had caught.

"Guardian of my modesty, I thank thee," I drawled, affecting an imaginary curtsey. Skuli laughed before disappearing back into the kitchen. Attacking the beef, I ate with relish, using the warm crusty slices of bread to soak up the sauce. After two weeks of badly cooked rabbit and deer—and for one painful day, skeever— this was heaven.

My lids were weary with the effort to keep my eyes open by the time I was done. Only the thought of hot water and soap kept me awake. Trudging to the room, I saw Skuli had made good on his promise and blessing the boy under my breath, closed the door and stripped off my armour and underclothes. Unfastening my braid, I stepped into the large, shallow basin, no higher than my calves and picking up the first of three large buckets, poured the almost scalding liquid over my head and felt it flow over my skin. It was a renewing experience, the mild scent of the foamy soap as it removed the sweat and grime that quick dips in a freezing stream could not. A small groan escaped my lips as I worked the soap into my hair, massaging my scalp. The past was hidden but every day, I learnt more about myself and I knew that I had been one for creature comforts. Jenassa had thrived in the open while I had learnt to tolerate it. Farkas and Vilkas of the Companions seemed immune to snow while I had indiscriminately exhausted my Magicka by casting healing on myself just to get rid of the shivers that rattled my frame. Farkas had looked amused and Vilkas openly challenged my claim to Nordic heritage. That there was Dragon's blood in me was almost a joke.

With a sigh, I stepped out of the basin, soap free and feeling human again. Quickly, I swilled my filthy undergarments in the remaining bucket, washing and wringing them out as best I could before spreading them out on the table to dry. There were some spare clothes in the cupboard and I donned those, one hand combing through damp blonde tangles as I emerged from the room. Skuli shooed away my attempt to help him remove the basin and empty buckets, and since I had to do it anyway, I went to the room where Alduin slept.

Leontius had disappeared, and Eydis was drawing up the covers to his chin. "Leontius has loaned him some clothing and we managed to get him clean. What happened to him?"

At least she didn't believe I was a rapacious villain. "I found him near the Karthspire bluffs. It probably was robbers; Hargravens or the Forsworn would have taken him to use as a sacrifice for some ritual or other."

Eydis shuddered, muttering a prayer of protection. "He's lucky you found him, rather than one of the bird hags. He is very handsome," she added, looking at me from the corner of one gleaming eye.

"If you think so, you are welcome to him."

A wistful smile touched her lips. "There is only one man I'd welcome, Freyja. I hope he comes back soon."

Guilt bit into me, hard and I would have said something but Eydis bid me goodnight and left before I could blink. There would be a way to make this up to her. I would have tracked down her husband but she had not known exactly where he had gone too and by now, I feared the worst.

Cautiously, I sat on the edge of the large bed, looking at Alduin. Eydis' observation came back to haunt me. With full firm lips, a high straight nose and sharp features, he was very pleasing to look upon. "Don't forget the eyelashes, Freyja," I snorted, leaning back against the headboard. The soft bed seemed to sing sleep to my very flesh and with a muttered curse, I forced myself up and into the chair. I could not afford to let him out of my sight but he was too dangerous to sleep right next to. Shifting the chair closer to the table, I eyed the weapons and armour I had left on it. The room was cozily warm and the armour would make me uncomfortably hot. Still, one needed to take precautions. Reaching out, I took my sword and folded my arms over it before I lay my head down, feeling the twin sensations of the warmth of my own flesh and the eternal chill in the Daedric sheath against my cheek.

Before I knew it, sleep claimed me and I fell into darkness.

* * *

><p>Caution made for light sleep and after awhile, I realised I was slipping in and out of rest, the consciousness of danger preying on the edges of my mind. When Alduin finally awoke and proceeded to fall out of bed, the sound of his body hitting the floor startled me and sheer instinct caused me to yank the blade halfway free before I realised there was no danger after all.<p>

Beneath the thick blanket, Alduin was flailing on the floor. The good thing was, it was downright ridiculous, so much so that I would have laughed if I had not been so perplexed. On the other hand, he was making so much noise he would rouse the others. "Stop thrashing about like a mammoth in a shop," I scolded, keeping my voice low as I pulled the blanket off, tossing it to the bed. And then, I did laugh. Leontius was several sizes smaller than Alduin's human form and it must have taken much determination for Leontius and Eydis to have squeezed him into the ill fitting shirt and pants.

He snarled, his head snaking forward like a dragon and I recalled who he was, beneath that flesh and bone. "I'm going to get you back into the bed and then you and I need to talk."

That was certainly easier said than done. "Ouch!" Massaging the painful crick in my neck, I glared down at Alduin while batting aside his clumsy attempts to push me away. "I've spent half the night sleeping in a chair while you had the bed and I am not in a mood to be trifled with."

The last straw came when he almost poked my eye out. Seizing him by the hair, I yanked. He roared with pain, distracted, and I grabbed the opportunity to drag him roughly onto the bed, not bothering that his shoulders slammed against the wooden edge of the frame, so hard I knew it would leave bruises. Hands curled around the front of his tunic, I straddled him, legs pinning his arms to his side when he continued to struggle. "Do not think I won't hurt you," I whispered menacingly, my hair spilling down to curtain his face as I leaned forward to eyeball him.

It was pure misfortune that a sleepy Eydis chose that moment to peek into the room. "I heard some noise. Is everything…" Her words trailed off and for a moment, the two of us stared blankly at each other while Alduin tried to twist around and see who that was. A smile drew across her lips.

"No, Eydis. It's not…"

"Not what I think it is. Aye, Freyja, I know that already. Maybe this is all just a dream. A very pleasant one." Wicked humour danced in her eyes as she shut the door.

Dear gods, this must be Mehrunes Dagon's revenge for my refusal to kill Silus. Dejected, I dropped my head back down and caught sight of the gaping neckline of my shirt. I had forgotten to fasten the ties before sleeping off. No wonder Eydis had jumped to the wrong conclusion. And that meant that moments ago, Alduin had gotten a good look at more than just my eyes and face. Maybe it was not too late to kill Silus and get Dagon off my back.

Straightening up, I knotted the ties so thoroughly it would take a dagger to release them, still perched atop my nemesis. He wriggled, like a fish and just about as effectively. "You are as uncoordinated as a drunken pirate." It puzzled me and I wondered if the Shout had other less visible effects. "I'm going to cast a healing spell on you. Let's see if that works."

A stream of nonsense issued from his lips, the words hopelessly slurred, each syllable melding into the other. "And as articulate as a drunken pirate as well," I muttered as a golden glow suffused the both of us. When a sizeable portion of Magicka drained away, I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Well, how do you feel?"

More babbling issued from him. Apparently, I was either losing my touch or he was not injured at all. This was a different problem. Rolling off him, I watched as he struggled to back away and pull himself up. It was almost as though he did not know what to do…

Light dawned and the epiphany broke over me in waves. "You don't know how to use this body."

His mouth opened, closed and with great effort, he spoke. This time, I could make out the words, although he had to repeat some of them and a few were overly drawn out. Too bad the only Dragon words I understood were the enchanted ones carved into walls. "I can't speak your language except for the Shouts."

Contempt seemed to ooze from every pore as he somehow managed to look down at me from his prone position. "At least I'm not flapping about like a newborn," I snapped. "And you must not speak the Dragon Tongue. It will raise questions and people will kill you if they know who you are." Not to mention me, if I tried to stop them. In a fair fight, it was not easy to take me but the idea of standing against Nazir, Delphine or even the Companions nauseated me. These were my allies and friends; they had given me shelter, guidance and a shield from the loneliness that dogged my heels.

"Until you learn how to manage the tongue you have now, a nod or a shake of the head will have to suffice. Can you do that?"

* * *

><p>Alduin curled his lips contemptuously. At that moment, he despised this prison of flesh that encased his dragon's soul even more than he did the Dragonborn Nord who stood by the side of the bed.<p>

A god, reduced to nodding and shaking his head in order to communicate. He would have eaten her soul, a piece at a time if it meant giving her a new perspective of being in hell.

"Well, can you?" The Dovahkiin, Freyja, as the other human had named her, asked again. He could smell her impatience, sense indecision flutter through her before it vanished. At least his senses had remained intact.

Spitting out a curse that sounded garbled even to his own ears, Alduin nodded, realizing there was little choice in the matter.

"Firstly, I will caution you against trying to kill me. Eyes that you cannot see watch me even now and my death would greatly displease her. I have brothers and sisters from whom you cannot hide."

It was a naked threat. A low growl rumbled at the base of his throat but he nodded. As he was, even the lowest dregs of the human race could easily finish him off. He knew she was not speaking of a true family, not one related by blood. So the Dovahkiin was allied to some of other Powers. He was not sure whom though; he had had little patience with a race that he felt was made to be ruled, and much of the world had passed him by while he had been locked in Time.

Eyes like blue ice pierced him, the pupils a true black that seemed to draw in light. If they had been narrower, they would have been the eyes of a Dovah, not some bastardised form created by Akatosh and a slave queen sent to plague his race.

"As you are, I cannot possibly leave you alone. Neither will I give you the choice of wandering the land and falling into some black fate. You and I, our paths are intertwined, for good or evil. I mean to keep an eye on you for as long as you walk this land."

She would never be his keeper; he had no equal amongst his own kind, let alone her species. Instead, he gazed at her, defiance written on his face. Anger flashed across her face and she impatiently ran a hand through those pale golden strands that glinted by the glow of the candles. "There is no choice for you." She looked away then. "And none for me."

He would have taunted her, but for the uncooperative tongue in this oddly shaped mouth. And at that moment, a loud growl erupted from his belly and hunger, burning and strange, licked fiercely at him, clutching at innards he was unfamiliar with. He must have looked astonished, for she smiled then, although the mirth scarcely touched her eyes.

"Welcome to my world."

The words chilled him but he kept his face impassive, watching as she retreated from the room, returning minutes later with a tray. "You can learn to eat with your own hands tomorrow. It's too late for such a lesson now and I am tired."

Once, he thought he would rather have died than deign to accept such a situation. But he had never been subject to the weakness of a human form and the burning in his stomach was beginning to hurt. So, along with the bread and meat, Alduin swallowed his pride as the Dragonborn tore pieces of the food and fed it to him with her own hand. Occasionally, his eyes would flash to her face, looking sharply for hints of smugness or gloating. There was none to be found. Instead, she looked uneasy, embarrassed even. At least he was not suffering alone in his humiliation.

When he was finished, he insisted on taking the cloth she held, using it awkwardly to wipe his mouth. She disappeared again and this time he noticed the sword she wore on the belt strapped to her hips. His eyes felt heavy and beneath him, the bed was so soft. He was Alduin, World Eater, and such luxuries were useless to him. They felt good to this poor excuse of a body though. His eyes snapped open when the door swung with a light squeak. The Dovahkiin shut it and took a seat at the chair.

"Sleep. We both have a long day ahead of us." With that, she blew out the candles and in the darkness, they both watched each other with suspicion until he could no longer hold off fatigue and to his further humiliation, he slept first.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Firstly, thank you for all the lovely comments! It was such a treat to hear from you all and your reviews made my day. Some of your suggestions will find themselves into this story eventually; they are too good to pass up. I've made some corrections to the previous chapters since there were indeed errors in the names of places and people. Otherwise, the spelling is not wrong, just British. ^_^ I meant to update later this weekend but finished this sooner than expected. So why not now? I hope you enjoy this too._

**DRAGONREND **

**III. **

There were many things in my life that I sincerely hoped would stay in the dark box of memory and never see the light of day again. Things which haunted me, which made my insides roil with shame when they burst out of my thoughts. A man standing in the bright sunshine, admiring the sapphire of the running river, while I crept up from behind like the malevolent shadow I was. An old woman whom I struck down in the safety of a fortress for committing a deed that still remained unknown to me. A radiant young woman with enough grace to waive a spice wine tariff, whose white dress was stained red with my sin while her shocked husband stood less than ten feet away.

The Dark Brotherhood had made me stronger, taught me skills and given me powers that would have been otherwise out of reach. It had brought Shadowmere, often my only source of comfort and company. I paid for these in ways I had anticipated but never fully understood until everything was said, done and too late to take back.

This morning, however, all these deeds seemed to pale in comparison with what I had just been through. It seemed as though I had barely dropped back into sleep when Alduin promptly woke me up again by hurling a book on the bedside table in my general direction. He missed, of course, and the book didn't get very far either, but he accomplished what he set out to do.

"Not even one day together and you've already started throwing objects at me," I muttered, swiping a hand over sleep-sticky eyes as I approached him. "We have the makings of a beautiful friendship. What do you want?"

The immediate reply I received was hopelessly garbled and Alduin looked momentarily enraged with himself. Then, he proceeded to grab my arm. Using me as a support, he stood up, clutching me with a strength that was impressive, frightening even because I was dwarfed by his size. He thought for a few seconds, fine black brows drawn together in a slash until those amber eyes lit up and with great care, he spoke again. "…Need privacy…now."

"Huh?"

"Privacy," he growled again. From the look on his face, he probably would have said a lot more—and I was guessing some of it would have been invective directed at me—but speaking was too much of an effort at the moment and he contented himself with a glare that did just as well at telling me that I was a fool.

"You want me to leave the room?"

In his exasperation, he actually shook me. It helped jar my comatose brain awake and I finally realised what he meant. Like all humans, Alduin had to answer nature's call. "Damnation and Sithis."

Where was Leontius when I actually wanted him around? Slipping an arm around his waist, and using my other hand to drag his arm across my shoulder, we half-stumbled towards the back of the inn, where the common privy was located.

Shoving the door open, I pushed him in. To my great shock, he pulled me in as well. "I can't be in here with you," I yelped, swatting insistent hands away even as he swayed against me.

His response was to snarl and even though he now had a human tongue, he managed to sound remarkably like the dragon he truly was. And then he took my hand, and put it on the laces of his breeches, amongst other things. If mortification could kill, I would have gone up in flames along with half the inn. "What in Oblivion!" I half-screeched, trying to jerk away. "Are you mad or just sick?"

"Untie, now."

Oh, that explained everything. He wasn't being perverted; I was just dense. "You could have simply asked," I muttered darkly, tugging at the laces while trying valiantly to pretend that this was not happening. "You do know what to do right?" He gave me a withering look, which indicated otherwise. "Who am I kidding? Some men born with this anatomy still don't know what to do after decades or centuries of living, if the condition of most privies at the inns is anything to go by. I certainly doubt women could cause the sanitation problem. It can't be the children either because children in towns just do not go to the inns for such purposes…"

And while I ran on with my interminable monologue about how men were the root of all sanitation evils in Skyrim, I managed to instruct Alduin on the finer points of how exactly a man should use the privy without making a mess. And all this with my eyes firmly fixed on the ceiling. There ought to have been a trophy or reward for such…trials. When he was finally done, I had to lace up his pants again and by the time we returned to the room, we were unable to look at each other, probably for different reasons. That, and I wanted to wash my hands although I had just done so. Blood wouldn't come off but maybe this experience would if I worked at it long enough.

By now, I was sure it was not just Mehrunes Dagon plotting against me; Namira had to be in on it as well. This was her getting her pound of flesh. That was what one got for defying the Daedric Princes. So much for being the champion of Azura and a Nightingale of Nocturnal if they could not stop their counterparts from damning me with humiliating situations. Because here I was, about to fall head first into yet another one, and on the same morning too.

'Talos give me strength,' I beseeched, pacing the floor in a tight circle as I tried to ignore Alduin, whom I had deposited on the bed again. Dragons I could kill, Hargravens I would gladly take on, dungeons were bearable because come hell or high water, I was getting out, even if it was only to die out in the sun, under the open sky. Giving a lecture on the human anatomy was not my forte and ought to have been the domain of mothers with small children. I was nowhere fit enough to be a mother because my cooking alone might kill them, if my woeful lack of housekeeping skills did not. And Alduin was not my idea of a child. Maybe the Night Mother would have taken to him but I fully intended to keep them as far apart as possible. She would just have to make do with Sithis since she had gotten rid of her offspring.

Stopping abruptly, I sat down, because I doubted I could get through the talk otherwise. "Alright, the human body is not that much different from a dragon's. At least, I think it isn't. There are some things you need to know before they actually happen so please listen carefully because I am not going to repeat myself. Unless you require a clearer and more in depth explanation and no, I do not give demonstrations of any kind…"

* * *

><p>He had heard the cry of the accursed Greybeards that day. The lands had echoed with their voices. It was a thunder that shook the air and truth be told, it had shaken him as well. His defeat at the hands of Paarthurnax's disciples still rankled so deeply he felt it in his bones and if not for the Elder Scroll, he might have bested them. 'Or not,' an insidious thought whispered and try as he might, he could not set it aside.<p>

_Joor. Zah. Frul. _

They had created that, twisted the ancient language of the Dovah to suit their needs, turned it against the ones who had breathed it into life. Alduin would always remember the first time he experienced the curse of mortality. It had lashed him to the core of his soul, threatening to sunder it as death, not by the blade but by fading, by the weakening and wasting of skin, muscle and flesh, touched him. Along with it, a host of fears, all incomprehensible, had flooded him, caused his wings to falter, brought him to the ground to shake in horror at that which he was never meant to know.

And now he was here, clothed in the raiment of human flesh, vulnerable to a myriad human failings and limitations. There would be no end to humiliation from here on until he could undo her accursed Shout. To relieve himself he had required her assistance, the clumsy human fingers unable to undo the cumbersome clothing forced on him. If one could have perished of shame, Alduin would have done so that hour.

All because of her. He watched as she paced the ground relentlessly, face taut with nervousness, hands clasped behind her back. Not for the first time did Alduin think how wonderful killing her would be, but logic prevailed. He needed her to survive in this weakened state, and he needed her to undo this Shout. He could not very well Shout at himself and as a dragon, he had not been able to learn the twisted Thu'um spawned by her kind. Alduin was not going to take any chances. He needed this Dragonborn alive.

When she finally stopped, her face was flushed and she was biting slightly on her lower lip, a habit she was oblivious to. How unlike Gormlaith Golden-Hilt she was. The only things they had in common were their Nord heritage. Even their hair was different. Gormlaith wore hers short and sensibly, like a true warrior. She had been taller and larger than this… milksop. A vain milksop, Alduin decided, for only vanity could have caused the woman to keep her hair to a length where it touched her waist. And no wonder she favoured leather armour; she might have collapsed if she wore a full suit of steel. How on earth had this…creature killed Mirmulnir and Sahloknir, two of his great lieutenants? Mirmulnir, especially, had been powerful and wily enough to survive the cursed Blades, those self-appointed Dragon Slayers.

'You forget, she faced you on the burial mound,' the insidious voice whispered again. Yes, it had been a death rush, meant to crush her into the earth and she had known it. Yet, there had been no fear. There had been a light in those eyes, clear and terrible. He thought she would have put a sword through his heart, or cut off his head. Instead, she had nourished and assisted him at a time when it would have been infinitely easier to kill him.

She was a fool, Alduin decided. But she confused him as well because he did not know what it was she wanted from this. 'Maybe it is to enjoy watching you humiliated,' he thought, and then realised that her fair skin had turned even redder when she began speaking. 'Perhaps not,' he revised his earlier speculation. If anyone felt embarrassed, it was the human. The emotion was emanating from her in waves.

"Alright, the human body is not that much different from a dragon's. At least, I think it isn't. There are some things you need to know before they actually happen so please listen carefully because I am not going to repeat myself. Unless you require a clearer and more in depth explanation and no, I do not give demonstrations of any kind…"

Was she actually…lecturing him? Nobody, not even Akatosh had ever taken that tone with him. This being who had not even seen a fraction of the summers he had lived through, who had the temerity to inform him of the facts of life, as she put it…

"Are you listening to me?" Her torrent of words, which of course had not entered his ears at all, finally ceased when she realised he was not paying attention. If she had lectured before, she was scolding now.

Alduin narrowed his eyes.

"Because if you don't, I am not taking you to the privy again, especially when your belly starts to hurt and not because you are hungry either."

There was no word in her language for what he wanted to call her. He had just realised that when she ran a hand over her face and exhaled loudly. "I know you are fantasising about the many ways in which you would love to kill me but right now, if you are going to become independent, you need to know some things. Such as walking without having your tail as a counterweight. You tend to lean forward instead of balancing on your feet."

Ah, so that was the problem. Not that he would not have worked it out for himself of course, Alduin reasoned. His present situation was overwhelming and he only needed time to adjust.

"Come, let's try getting you on your feet first."

She could move rather quickly when she wanted to, he realised. Before he could stop her, she was grasping his hands and urging him to stand. Her palms were warm against his and he could feel the rough calluses on her skin, feel her pulse where his fingers brushed over her wrist. How sensitive human skin was, how soft and thin. No wonder they bruised so easily; they felt everything and now he did too.

"There," the Dragonborn smiled, looking absurdly pleased when he finally managed to stand without wobbling. "Feet flat on the ground and keep your legs straight." When she started to step away, his hold on her hands tightened reflexively. "Don't worry, just take a step in my direction. Slowly," she coaxed, to his immense irritation. He was not a hatchling and she was certainly not his mother. If she had been, he would never have come out of the shell.

Walking, Alduin discovered, was a long and awkward process. His wings were bitterly missed, especially when the Dragonborn had to repeatedly catch him or hold him up. He felt crippled, disabled and immensely upset.

Roughly untangling his hands from hers, he indicated that she should stand next to him. She looked uncertain but acquiesced, jumping slightly when he threw a heavy arm over her shoulders and pulled her up against his side. Beneath his hand, her hair felt like the green grass of meadows at the height of spring, just silkier. "Better," he pronounced. This way, both of them were a lot less likely to fall when he stumbled.

"That really depends on whose opinion you're asking for. But go ahead, feel free to use me as your prop."

Several circles around the room and a few loose strands of blonde hair later, Alduin was able to keep his balance relatively well. He still needed to hold on to something, and that something, he decided, was going to be her.

"You had better learn to walk by yourself soon because going bald is too much of a sacrifice," the Dragonborn grumbled, rubbing her scalp. "Did you have to grab that hard just because you tripped?"

He simply smirked at her. This was her doing and it was only right that she pay some form of penance.

* * *

><p>Leontius was going to be very angry, I thought in resignation as I gazed at the gravy-splattered mess that had once been a shirt. Empowered by the morning's relative success, Alduin had insisted on learning to feed himself. Unfortunately, his eye-hand coordination needed a lot more practice. Years of practice, I corrected, trying not to wince as he proceeded to lick his fingers, almost cat-like in his mannerisms. Maybe that was how dragons cleaned their talons after feasting on a kill.<p>

Jumping in, I shoved a cloth in his direction. "Humans do not lick; we wipe." That might be true only of the more enlightened of the species but if he was going to be travelling with me, he was going to be clean, not covered in his own saliva. "Or, better yet. We wash and then wipe." Water sloshed over the rim as I pushed aside his breakfast tray and made him rinse his hands in the basin after soaping. Naturally, Alduin would squeeze the soap and it would fly halfway across the room and end up under the bed.

"Why me? Why?" I muttered, on my hands and knees, my head and shoulders squeezed beneath the bed as I felt around for the soap. When I finally retrieved it, I looked up and saw him turn quickly away. 'Oh no, you were not staring at my…' The thought was ludicrous. He was a dragon in a body that he barely knew. Surely… 'No Freyja, he was not leering. He was not.' That made me feel better, so I privately declared it as the truth. If Alduin was going to leer at anything, it might be female Argonians, not the Dovahkiin whom he was destined to battle to the death with.

The sound of ripping cloth, a shirt to be precise, interrupted my ruminations. "By the Nine Divines, did you really have to tear it off?" Even to my own ears I sounded whiny.

"It itched."

It had taken him a few minutes and I could see his mouth moving slightly, trying out the words. When he finally spoke though, it was surprisingly clear.

"Next, you'll be telling me the pants itch as well."

"They do."

Brynjolf always said my big mouth would get me into trouble. "I don't want to see you naked again!" Oh dear, I had not planned on blurting that out. "If you take off your clothes, I'll leave you in the stable with Shadowmere."

He sniffed disdainfully at me and then looked speculatively at the basin of water and the dripping soap in my hand. "A bath."

"You can barely stand by yourself and you want a bath? Eydis does not have a tub for me to put you in. You'll have to stand in the centre of a large shallow basin and wash yourself without falling over or making a mess."

Alduin sat patiently through my rant, or maybe he simply stopped listening until the sound of my voice ceased. Then, he gave me a look and suddenly I knew exactly what was on his mind. "No, not even if Nocturnal herself ordered me to do it," I snapped. My face was so hot I was sure the roots of my hair were sizzling on my scalp. "The only person I've ever bathed is myself and I intend to keep it that way." That much was true, to the best of my post-almost-execution experience in Skyrim.

I would educate him on the finer points of interaction between men and women next time. For one thing, men did not make women touch them in unmentionable areas, at least not without getting permission. Secondly, people did not just strip off and get naked in front of semi-strangers. Thirdly, he might have been flying around Skyrim in nothing but scales for millenia but as a human, there was something called Modesty. Now, however, was the time for another course of action.

"Skuli!" I escaped through the doorway and slammed it shut on Alduin's loud protests, mostly snarls. "I need a bath drawn up now. Is Leontius outside?"

"Chopping wood," he replied. "You know, the walls are quite thin. You really don't want to be shouting out about being naked with him again. Stuff like that might make Leontius uncomfortable."

"That is not what I said!"

"If you say so, Freyja," he replied before disappearing.

Like mother, like son. I almost yanked the main door off its hinges. Leontius' face was already an iron mask of disapproval and I wondered if Skuli was right about the walls and what distorted version of the truth Leontius had heard. "I need your help. The man injured his head when he was attacked and he doesn't remember much, nor can he move very well at all."

The sound of iron splitting wood never stopped even for a moment.

"He wants to bathe and needs assistance."

"No."

"Alright, I'll ask Eydis then."

Leontius glared at me and at that moment, I would have bet the Right Eye of the Falmer that he was envisioning burying his axe in my skull. Without a word, he dropped it, rolled up his sleeves and stalked into the inn.

It was earlier than I expected. The sky was a sea of mixed blue; dawn's fingers had begun painting the East with light. Outside here, it was serene, so quiet that I could sense the fox and her cub skulking around the thickets. And then it happened, the sound I had been waiting for. Alduin howled with indignation.

I smiled. The day had just gotten better.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Well, it's gone and happened again, in spite of a lengthy hiccup. And since I've finished it early, here is the chapter. As requested, more from Alduin's POV this time and some Shadowmere-Alduin antagonism, as suggested. Once again, thank you for sharing your comments with me! They make my heart beat faster (cue Matt Nathanson)._

**DRAGONREND **

**IV. **

Leontius scowled at me as he pressed a fresh piece of beef to his eye. At least it wasn't dripping blood. Still, it was a queer sight and that, I decided, proved conclusively that Brynjolf had lied to me when he told me that before things got better, they got worse.

The first time was when he'd decided I needed archery lessons. When I failed to hit any of the straw targets and nearly killed half the Guild with laughter, he decided that perhaps some target practice outside would make a difference. Eventually we progressed from wolves to sabre cats and very swiftly on to much larger game, such as mammoths, because there weren't any animals larger than those. Except for dragons, which Brynjolf understandably wished to avoid. "Chin up, lass. It always gets worse before it gets better." He stopped saying that by the time I drew my fifth arrow on the same mammoth. The hulking tasked goliath didn't bother to cease cropping the grass, secure in the knowledge that the arrows stuck in the ground, rocks and floating down the stream from it meant one thing: the hunter was a hopeless shot and thus, there was nothing to fear. "Not a word about being the Dragonborn," I threatened him as I stomped past and dumped my Nightingale bow into his waiting hands. After that, the only things we practiced with were knives and swords.

"I could heal it," I offered almost sheepishly from the pillar I was trying to blend into.

"No thank you," Leontius said curtly, still nursing his eye with the raw hunk of meat.

"How about a potion?"

"Leave it be."

It was official. If he hadn't hated me then, he certainly did now. And it was all Alduin's fault. Alduin who was currently unbathed, still dressed and probably gloating behind the wooden door. Alduin who had apparently thrashed like a man allergic to water and socked Leontius a good one to the eye when the latter had tried to undress him.

"Maybe some compensation…" I looked hopefully at Eydis. Leontius opened his mouth, possibly to impale me with some very choice words, but a look from her silenced him. "Since your eye might be swollen for some days and it might impede the efficiency with which you carry out your usual tasks." His good eye glared at me. "Which of course is all my fault," I hurried on hastily, cringing internally at taking the blame for that spoiled, good-for-nothing Dovah. "Maybe five hundred septims?" When all else failed, bribery always came in handy.

Skuli's mouth dropped open but the boy showed admirable restraint. Eydis looked almost embarrassed. Trust Leontius to throw a spanner in the works. "Not if you expect me to try this again."

I wished I had worn my masked cowl; I would have gnashed my teeth in frustration. "Let me talk to him. I'll make him see reason." Even if I had to shove it through his thick skull with both my hands. "Please. In spite of what you may think, I am not…" I groped around for a word and found one, "familiar at all with his person and it is not appropriate for me to assist him in such chores." To drive home the point, I promptly blushed and bit my lip, looking at the ground and scuffing my foot on it. If one whiff of this conversation got out, Nazir would be appealing to the Night Mother to fire me as the Listener. As for the thieves, this would probably achieve what my botched attempt at archery lessons did not.

However, affecting maidenly modesty worked on the uptight Imperial, as I suspected it would. "Very well, but only if he promises to cooperate."

"Thank you," I gushed while trying not to lay it on too thickly. "I'll have a word with him right now." A word and then some, I thought grimly as I stalked into the room, slammed the door and eyeballed a very smug Alduin who was currently ensconced on the bed, apparently reading. Next to the basin and two filled buckets lay an overturned one lying in a large puddle on the floor. "You know, we hold our books the other side up."

He gave me a haughty glare, somehow managing to look down his nose at me although he was seated and I was the one standing up. Maybe that came with having legions of dragons and their priests kowtowing before him daily. But that was then and this was now and the sooner he learnt it, the better.

"You wanted me to bathe you, yes?" I asked, my voice deceptively calm.

"I said that." He still looked smug, but the way he shifted his head slightly indicated some degree of caution was blossoming. Proud but not stupid. I would have to remember that.

"Okay." Nodding, I went to the cupboard, took out a coil of rope that I had stashed there the night before, just in case I needed to restrain him, and looped it over my shoulder. "Let's go then."

By now, those amber eyes were snapping with alarm. "Where to?"

I gave him the smile that Babette said she found a little creepy. If it affected a three hundred-year-old vampire assassin that way, suffice to say that it had the desired effect on a dragon who was all too aware of his current vulnerable state. "Why, the river of course." As I spoke, I moved towards him. "It's just down the path from the inn and at a certain point, the current is relatively strong. Don't worry; I'll tie one end of this rope around you." I flicked it hard against his bare chest, leaving a red welt. "I should be able to reel you in once I think the water has flushed you clean." Leaning down, I pushed his shoulder hard and he fell back against the headboard as I loomed over him. "Just so you know, I'm fanatical about cleanliness. So I might decide that it could take hours." That last part came out as a hiss as I gave vent to my frustrations and for one scant second, the dragon inside wakened before I shoved it down.

Alduin looked outraged and at the same time, helpless. It was almost comical. "You have a choice." I drew back, straightening up. "Me or Leontius?"

Long seconds passed and for a moment I actually thought he would choose me. "Leontius," he growled, unable to look me in the eye. Fair skin flushed red and in that moment, the knowledge that Alduin was ashamed startled me. So it wasn't simply a perverse desire to torture me that was motivating him.

"This isn't about anyone seeing you as weak. Those people out there think you are the victim of a vicious robbery and I told them you were badly injured. It's natural to help others, even if you haven't experienced it before. Besides, you can't expect me to do such things for you. We're not even sharing a bed." Later I would wonder where in Oblivion that came from.

He frowned a little and I could see him thinking, almost. "That is why you used the chair?"

This was such a strange conversation to be having. I'd sometimes imagined what facing Alduin would be like. He would threaten to savage me and I would do so likewise and at the end of it all, one of us would have spoken truthfully. Explaining this to him however… "I don't mean it just literally. Sharing a bed means relations." His frown deepened. "Intimate relations," I clarified, hoping that would help. Apparently it did not. Now he looked at me as though I was spouting rubbish. "It means we're mating," I snapped.

His eyes widened in shock and he drew back, looking suitably horrified.

"The feeling is mutual," I assured him drily. "Remember, victim of a vicious robbery alright? You aren't supposed to demolish Leontius. Think about it as good acting. You must fit the part."

Flattery certainly won't hurt that one, I thought, noting that he looked slightly mollified. Opening the door, I cheerfully announced, "He's all yours."

* * *

><p>The days—he had lost count of them-had settled into a predictable routine. Each morning, he would rise to find the Dragonborn half-curled in her chair, head pillowed in her arms which were folded on the table. She would wake up a moment later, as though she sensed him, and would proceed to grumble under her breath as she worked the cricks out of her arms, neck and legs. Since he enjoyed her discomfort, he saw no good reason to tell her that he did not intend murder and mayhem the moment she started sleeping in a different room.<p>

After that, they would breakfast together and while she still wouldn't let him use a knife, she would cut his meat and bread. At least he hardly made a mess now and although it was absurd to feel pride over such a trivial matter, he did. The mornings were spent exercising, as she termed it. He learnt to walk without her aid and the instant he showed himself capable enough, she loaned him to Leontius as an assistant. "It will help improve your general dexterity," she explained when he had refused to carry and stack the cut wooden logs. "You are a man now and men, real ones, do not let women pay their rent and room without doing something in return."

The Dragonborn had basically accused him of living off her, so what was any self-respecting Dovah to do? In the past he had pillaged and plundered for wealth but he had never gotten anyone to do it for him. In the end he had grudgingly agreed, if only to stop her from going on and on about it.

He still spent several hours sleeping in the afternoons but Alduin realised these were lessening. He took that as a sign that he was acclimatising to this body. At night, when he could not sleep, he quietly practiced speaking, determined to master the human tongue. The woman, Eydis and her son, had started asking questions and he had used the blow to his head to excuse his apparent lack of memory and therefore, the lack of answers. "No wonder Freyja has taken you under her wing," Eydis nodded sympathetically. "Don't worry Aldin. You won't find a better protector in all of Skyrim."

He could have argued with that, but discretion bade him hold his tongue. Besides, hearing that mangled version of his name took some getting used to.

Sometimes he would watch her outside the inn. She usually went down to the riverside to practice with her sword, sometimes both of them. Like her shadow, that huge unnatural black stallion was always present. Once, Alduin had thought of going closer and had started down the path. But the stallion had bared his teeth and pawed the ground in such a threatening manner that he had changed his mind. The Dragonborn too had stopped in mid-stroke, looking at him as though he was about to run off into the wild.

She was good, he thought as he watched her twirl and slash at imaginary enemies. Not the best he had seen, and Alduin had conquered legends amongst men, but good enough to be a threat. And when coupled with her ability to use the Thu'um…

Apart from the need to study his foe, for he refused to think of her in any other terms, it was the sight of the world beyond the confines of the four walls that drew him out. Everything looked so much larger and for the first time in his life, he felt tiny, insignificant. From atop the slope he could see where the river gathered force, its waters churned white, frothing like a powerful beast as it dashed itself against treacherous rocks. He had never truly noticed that about rivers. Further away lay the mountains. Those great peaks had once been nothing more than a perch, a rest for him, a place from which to look down over the land that, by right of power and might, belonged to him only. Now they looked down at him, those jagged snow crowned heights. So far away, so imposing, so damned impossible to reach.

On days like these, when the wind was sweet and the sky a true sapphire blue, the urge to fly was overpowering. Sometimes he felt like tearing off the clothes that bound him, dig through flesh and bone to release the Dovah within. On days like these, he wept sometimes because he could not but the memory of flight remained.

"Hey."

Alduin jumped in spite of himself. The human child, Skuli, was standing behind him, holding… "What in the name of Oblivion are those?" he demanded bluntly. Those fleshy pink things had no eyes and they…wriggled in and out of the clump of soil the boy held.

The boy looked pityingly at him and Alduin had to resist the urge to smack the child for his rudeness. "These are worms. And this," he gestured at the pole with a thick white string attached to it, "is a fishing pole. You should join me. It won't do you much good, standing out here and staring and wishing for something that's already gone."

The boy walked right past him, unaware of the astonished expression on the man's face. Was the child a mind reader? Perhaps he had some hidden powers that Alduin had failed to detect because of the weakness of this human form.

"You can fish, can't you?"

If ever there was a gauntlet thrown down, that was it. Ignoring the fact that he didn't even know where on the pole the worms went, Alduin answered in the affirmative and marched after Skuli. Besides, the Dragonborn and her devil horse were not around; there was no one to stop him.

* * *

><p>Fish, Alduin realised, were extremely shiny in the sun. They were not purely white either, not with those iridescent scales that shimmered with the colours of a rainbow, a bit of sky brought down to earth. And they jumped a lot, those glassy eyes wide and staring while they gasped for air until Skuli clubbed them with a branch and put them out of their misery.<p>

He had never used to bother about fish. Mammoths, large cows and bulls, those had been his choice of food. Some of his brethren were partial to trolls but the taste did not sit well with him. Once, his Dragon priests had offered him one of the rebels but Alduin had refused. Men were meant to be servants. They provided him with worship, not fodder for his belly. Now, he was immensely glad he had refused. It would have been too strange otherwise.

The fish, Alduin decided, were conspiring against him with Skuli. They would rather die on the boy's rod than his. What was even more of an affront was the number of them that had done so. They might as well have thrown themselves out of the water at the boy's feet.

"Don't scowl so. It's unbecoming of a man to sulk, at least that's what Mother says." Gleefully, Skuli launched his line once again.

"Keep teasing me and you'll never live to find that out for yourself," he muttered darkly while staring daggers at the river, as though his gaze could pierce the silvery denizens that glided beneath. Sweat was gathering at his collar. It ran down his temples and into his hair, plastered the cotton to his back. The first time he had perspired, Alduin had been convinced he was ill or dying. He had felt properly foolish once the Dragonborn had explained what was happening and why.

Ignoring Skuli's giggles, Alduin lifted up his rod, made sure the wretched worm was still hooked and then cast the line again, aiming for a different spot. If he even got one fish, he would thank Akatosh. That was how desperate he was.

He was contemplating how angry the Dragonborn would be if he used his Thu'um to stun the fish when miracle of miracles, a fish latched onto his hook. The pole shuddered as the salmon thrashed furiously, leaping out into the air. Skuli yelled at him to pull it in but Alduin was already yanking the rod up and back, pulling the fish in a graceful arc that cut the air and landed it on the bank. Stifling the triumphant roar in his throat, Alduin jogged over and picked up his still struggling catch.

"That's a real beauty," Skuli breathed, coming over to admire the fish. "And it's so much bigger than the rest. Mother can cook that for our dinner this evening. We can salt the others or trade them."

Usually, when one of his priests outdid the others, the rest of the group fell into attempts to discredit him or tried their damnedest to top that achievement. The same vanity ran in his kind. It made the boy's free praise all the more shockingly unusual.

After clubbing the fish, Skuli carefully cut the line, removed the hook and put it into the bucket with the others. They were headed up the road when the sound of a horse's quick cantering made them look around. Coming back up the path was the Dragonborn and her horse, with Eydis seated behind her in the saddle. They had just returned from a nearby settlement, Rorikstead or something like that.

"Mother, look at what Aldin and I caught!"

The way the Dragonborn's eyes almost bulged out of her head was worth the agony of enduring the sun's burn, Alduin decided with no small amount of satisfaction. Overall, it had not been that bad an experience. Perhaps he would do this again tomorrow.

* * *

><p>Dinner, as always, was filled with a mix of elements. Skuli and his mother would somehow find something to talk animatedly about, which was amazing because they saw each other virtually the whole day. Occasionally the Dragonborn would chime in, although he suspected she was withholding information, especially when quizzed about her adventures. 'Of course she would,' he thought. 'I would too if I were in the presence of my nemesis.' A nemesis with whom he was sharing the fish he had caught this afternoon. Surely this was a jest on the part of Fate or the Divines. Apart from that, she was more than happy to talk about the various cities and keeps she had been to. The woman had travelled through more than half of Skyrim, he realised.<p>

Leontius contributed his silence, which was happily swallowed up in the conversation. Alduin too had little to say unless he was asked a question. He found that he preferred to watch the humans; they were quite unlike any he had ever seen or associated with. The food also fascinated him. Like the rest of his senses, his sense of taste was heightened, more so than a normal person's, and human food with all its strange spices and sauces was exceedingly delicious. Alduin sometimes mused that when he resumed his Dovah form, he would recruit a small army of chefs. There was no way that he was ever going back to tasteless meat again.

They had just finished the meal when Alduin heard footsteps outside the inn. His eyes went to the entrance, as did the Dragonborn's when she realised he was listening to something. The door swung open and from the corner of his eye, he could see the Dragonborn go perfectly still at the sight of the towering Argonian who strode in. In his wake were two other men, covered mostly in fur and leather armour. All had swords by their sides.

"Inn-keeper, we would like to trade some game we caught for ale and food." As they walked to the counter, one of them, dark-eyed and brown-haired with a beard like Leontius', looked over at the Dragonborn as though she were food to be eaten.

"And maybe a night's stay as well," he added. All three chuckled and Alduin realised the rest of his dinner companions had gone quiet. Eydis got up reluctantly from the table and went to the counter. Her son never took his eyes from her. For the first time that evening, the fact that the Dragonborn had doffed her armour in favour of a simple shirt and soft breeches mattered.

He did not like it even more when he realised that only one man was following Eydis. The other stood near to the door and the Argonian was closest to them. He had seen the species sometimes, as a Dovah. They had seemed inconsequential then. Now though, in the firelight of the hearth, he did not think so. The creature stood a good head taller than him, all hard scales and bony plating with talons arming its hands and feet. He could feel the other's eyes on him, saw the subtle way Leontius slid the large knife Eydis had used to slice the fish closer to his hand. It was only a matter of time, seconds really. The tension in the air was a tangible, live thing.

"While you're at it, you could give us all your coin as well," the man at said, his voice low and taunting. There was the metallic ring of a knife blade against a sheath, a snarling roar from the Argonian as he leapt straight at Alduin. Beside him, Skuli screamed and then the air burst as a Dragon Shout shook the foundations of the inn.

Streams of light appeared as the fabric of time shattered, casting everything in a pale grey pallor. Both the Argonian and Alduin, who had been raising a defensive arm while pushing the boy aside, shifted their eyes to the one who made Time grind to a near halt and all but paralysed them in their tracks.

Launching herself from the seat, she snatched a dagger from her boot, rolled and came up in a sprint that ended when she plunged the shining gilded blade into the man's body, right at the spot where the neck met the spine. There was a loud sickening crack, followed by the smell of burning flesh as the body burst into flames which illuminated the silent scream that was Eydis' opened mouth.

Whirling, she raised an arm and something crystalline formed. As it ripped through the air in his direction, Alduin felt ice brush his hair, frosting it over as the spike buried itself in the Argonian's eye. Then his insides heaved as he felt Time gather, rush in on itself and break free of the confines of the Shout. Everything went white and then the world returned in all its colour and he caught the tail end of the Argonian's agonized scream, as well as its razor talons on his arm as it lashed out in blind fury.

The smell of his own blood mixed with that of the corpse's and Alduin fell back, hitting the bench before rolling to the ground, his flesh in ribbons. Sheer rage and a Dovah's battle lust brought him to his feet. The Dragonborn was standing between a fallen Leontius and the other man, the air before her shimmering brilliant white and blue. But they were the least of his concerns. The Argonian was tearing madly at the spike in its eye, stumbling about. Crouching low, he snuck around its back and waited until the bandit exposed the sword that hung on its belt. Alduin lunged, grasped cold metal and pulled, sliding the weapon from its sheath. It was heavy, much heavier than he expected and his grip was awkward but he held on.

Aware of the danger it was in now, the reptile stepped back, its face a mess of blood, ice and half-frozen viscous matter. It wasn't just the hands that were weapons; its feet were too. He had to remember that if he was going to survive. Suddenly, it cried out in pain and turned, enough for Alduin to see Skuli holding a flaming brand. Unhesitatingly, he lifted the sword and thrust it forward, straight for the Argonian's side, which was uncovered by armour. The blade slid on hard scales and for one horrible moment, he thought it was all over. And then the flesh gave as sharp metal found its way home in the body of its former master.

Alduin could not hear the Argonian's screams above the roar that thundered in his ears as he pushed, driving the stumbling bandit back until it hit the wall and he impaled it there with its own sword. Lips pulled wide in a predatory snarl, he snapped his jaws, hissing in triumph over his gurgling victim until strong hands he could not shake off pulled him away.

It was the Dragonborn, pale, grim and blood-splattered. "Leave him be. He is almost dead." When she glanced down at his arm, he remembered the pain and felt weakness from the blood lost. Laying her palm against his wounds, over the parts where the glint of bone could be seen, she spoke, lips moving silently and her hair lit up like white fire in the shower of gold light that suffused them both.

Flesh knit back together, skin healed, and pain fled as the injury closed seamlessly, as though it had never been. When she was finished, the colour had returned to her face. "Skuli, help your mother with Leontius. I've healed him but the poison has drained his strength. Take a Stamina potion from my pack and give that to him too. Aldin and I will get rid of the bodies."

By the time they cleaned up most of the blood and were done with covering the shallow graves, bones that he never knew he had ached. And the whole time, the Dragonborn held her silence even though he could sense the Dovah inside her, its spirit on edge and testing the control that was written all over her tight expression.

He held his tongue as she returned the shovels to the stables, watched as her anxious horse nudged and nuzzled her; it had been chomping on its bit and rearing, wild-eyed because of the fight inside which it could hear but not help in. Even when they walked down to the river together, he kept his peace, washing his stained hands in the river, choosing to remove the ruined shirt. She merely tore off the sleeves, tossing the blood-encrusted strips aside as she washed herself as clean as possible.

"You have blood in your hair," Alduin said quietly. She stiffened, nodded her thanks before dunking her entire head beneath the surface. Straightening up, she brushed the sodden locks from her face, kneading and wringing them. "Why is there blood on your sleeves?"

"I stabbed the bandit."

"There wouldn't be so much, not with that Thu'um. And it was yours, almost all of it. I can smell your scent."

His eyes fell on her arms, as unmarked as his under the starlight. "I heard you scream, Dovahkiin. Tell me what happened."

* * *

><p>Divines damn him. So he had heard me and I had screamed. The pain had been unexpected, especially since there had been no opponent there to provide a reason for the agony.<p>

Cold water ran down my back in trickles, soaking my shirt, flattening it against my form and for once, I did not care. Caution, confusion and the need to speak to someone warred mightily inside me, squeezing my chest with an invisible fist.

Before I had healed him, my arm had borne five slash marks, my flesh shredded as his had been. When the Argonian had hurt him, he hurt me too. 'And just what does that signify?' I wondered wildly. 'Is that why no one passed down this Shout?' Perhaps the Master of the Voice who had made it had met his end with the first dragon he tested it on. In slaying the beast he slew himself.

I could not tell him that. I would have to wait for a chance to return to High Hrothgar and seek the counsel of the Greybeards. If I could get away from Alduin, that was.

There was one question I had to ask though. "What does it mean, that Shout which I used against you?"

Disbelief coloured his voice. "You did not know?"

I leveled my gaze at him. "The meaning." It was not a request. But the look on his face was enough to make me wish I had brought my blades out with me. Shadowmere stepped closer, casting his shadow over me as he whickered a soft warning.

"You spoke words to chain me in mortal form. _Mortal, Finite, Bind_. That is the Thu'um in your tongue. I thought you knew, that you had deliberately done this to me. You ignorant fool!"

His words fell like whips, for inwardly, they were mine too. I was a fool, playing with an ancient magic beyond me. Just because it had been given did not mean I had to use it. I should have just gone to the Greybeards as I had planned. By now I would have learnt that other Shout, the one used by the heroes of old. 'One that would not have bound me to the World Eater himself,' I thought, rising on unsteady knees to my feet. Now I knew why he had turned into a Nord. Because I was one and Talos help me, in all likelihood he had taken on my form.

"Dovahkiin!"

Not knowing what else to do, I ignored him, grasping Shadowmere's mane, his presence an emotional bulwark from the storm inside. We lay down beside each other in the stable, my head on his flank as he curled himself around my shivering form.

That night, dawn took forever to arrive.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hi everyone! I'm so sorry for the long hiatus. Real life has bogged me down with work and at the moment, it's just one deadline after another. I've been writing a little here and there and finally the chapter looks alright. I'm satisfied but I think it could be better. But I feel so guilty about not updating so here it is. Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews; I really do enjoy hearing from you. And some of you left such generous, detailed ones which have been so very helpful and inspiring! A special shout-out to those who mentioned Freyja because she makes me nervous as a writer; handling OCs is harder than characters already created. I hope this chapter is a good read for you._

**DRAGONREND **

**V. **

As traumatised as I was by that night's discovery, it was impossible to hide from the truth. I, Freyja the Dragonborn, Thane of Whiterun and Winterhold, Guild Master of the Riften Thieves Guild, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, had spent the night hiding in a stable from a very angry dragon-turned-man. And now that dawn was finally making its appearance, the very angry dragon-turned-man had undergone another transformation from just very angry to furious. I gingerly rubbed the livid red bruise that appeared on my shoulder at the same time that Alduin's yell punctuated the air. Shadowmere had broken the skin and drawn a little blood, and I suspected it wasn't because he was holding back either. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to let Shadowmere go out there to chase him away. Then again, 'let' was an overstatement. An attempt to grab the horse had ended with him squashing me against the side of the stable stall until I let go. And that was Shadowmere's idea of being gentle.

"Dovahkiin, get out here this instant!"

"No," I stubbornly called out. "Go back into the inn. I'm busy."

"Doing what? Searching for your brains in a haystack? You've already had all night."

There was an outraged neigh followed by the sound of hooves striking the ground. An angry "Sithis and damnation!" assured me, along with the lack of any pain, that Alduin was unharmed and that he had also been paying closer attention to my words than I'd initially thought.

"You don't even know who Sithis is," I muttered, sitting on the ground as I held up the iron dagger I had filched from one of the dead bandits. Actually, to be honest, I hardly knew more than he did and I wasn't so sure that I wanted to expand my knowledge either. What kind of man…being allowed his offspring to be sacrificed in his name before marrying the woman? Why, he didn't even speak for himself but was happy enough to let the Night Mother do all the work while he got all the worship. That just showed one thing: males were all the same, regardless of the kind of being they were or the realms they inhabited. In fact—

"Stop it Freyja! You're procrastinating." This had to be done and it wouldn't hurt. Much. At least not as badly as that assassin's blade in my side, the one that Meeko had bitten while I had pummelled him—the assassin, not Meeko—into the dust before managing to draw my Nightingale blade out and letting said assassin get a first and final taste of it. The hunting dog had helped to save my life and for that, he was growing fat and happy under Lydia's care in Whiterun.

Still, it felt unnatural to be inflicting injuries on myself. Sucking in a deep breath, I touched the blade to my forearm and pressed hard. The blunt edge took a few seconds before it split the skin. Blood welled out as the tip buried itself in my flesh and sank in further as I applied slow but sure pressure. When the pain began to register itself in a slight wave that went right to my scalp, I stopped and waited. Shadowmere and Alduin were still cursing each other. When Alduin progressed to cursing various branches of Shadowmere's family tree, cold realisation washed over me. It wasn't working; it wasn't going to happen both ways. I would feel every injury inflicted on him but for some reason, injuries I sustained were not registering on him. And that meant that while I couldn't kill him, there was nothing to restrain him from trying the same thing with me.

"Oh Talos, what's going to happen when he realises I can't change him back?" In spite of what Nazir thought (and only because I would not let him install a torture chamber in the sanctuary), I was not stupid. My value to Alduin lay in the fact that he probably believed I could reverse the Shout somehow. Several times in the past weeks I had given him chances to attack me: pretending to continue sleeping when he awakened, turning my back and feigning ignorance that he had stepped into the room. He had never taken any of them; I couldn't say the same for the future.

It was the tremendous noise outside which snapped me out of my thoughts. Shadowmere screamed, Alduin appeared in the doorway of the stall, and Shadowmere came up from behind like a striking snake. Without thinking I lunged up, pulled with all my might on whatever part of his clothing I snagged and kicked his heels out from beneath him. As he fell on me, I rolled hard to the side, trying to shield as much of him as possible as the sound of hooves hitting ground exploded in my ear. "Stop! Shadowmere, stop it!" I yelled. "Don't hurt him." 'Don't hurt him because you'll crush my skull too' was what I really wanted to add but in times of emergency, brevity was not just the soul of wit, it was a necessity.

The sound of clattering hooves retreating from the stall made me look up. Accusing red eyes glared into mine before my affronted equine assassin shook his head, snorted and took off, head and tail held high in the air. "I can explain," I groaned weakly before dropping my head back onto…Alduin's hair. That was when I realised that in my attempt to protect him, I had practically rammed his face into my chest while wrapping my arms around his head and back. The rest of me was draped over the man.

By the Nines, everything that could go wrong was going to go wrong. I could feel it in my bones. "It never rains but pours, lass," Brynjolf's voice chimed in my head and I wanted to tell him to shove it. What I really, really wanted to do was run after Shadowmere and do a similar disappearing act as well.

But since I couldn't, I put on my best reproving face, untangled myself from him and scolded. "You should have just waited for me to come out. Now look what you've done."

Alduin sputtered but I steamrolled over him the way a Dwemer centurion would an unlucky Falmer in its way. "You should be grateful he didn't harm you. Next time, be patient. Patience is a virtue. After all, you've waited three or four eras. One morning is completely insignificant in the light of all that time."

Amber eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared slightly. If I didn't know better, I could have sworn I'd seen smoke rising from them. Maybe I had overdone it, by just a bit. Then he seized my bleeding arm. "How is it that you are injured?" His eyes swept the stall, spotted the dagger on the ground and something akin to alarmed surprise flashed over his face. "What exactly were you doing to yourself?"

"I'm not allowed to explain the rituals to you," I lied, pulling away even as I cast a healing spell. "And I didn't know you cared either," I mocked. When in a tight spot, distract the other party. That was one of the first lessons Ogmund had taught me. I hated the city of silver, blood and stone but the inn's resident 'old skald' was the only person I didn't dislike.

"I don't. It's just that you've bled on me." Even against the dark blue of the superfine wool, my blood showed up clearly. "Besides, if anyone is going to spill your blood, it will be me."

"I'd like to see you try it."

"I've been trying to all night but you've been hiding behind that devil horse!"

"Well, that just about says it all. If you can't get pass Shadowmere, what makes you think you can take on the Dragonborn?"

We might have begun throttling each other in the stable, except for the fact that Skuli popped up at the most importune moment when Alduin was reaching for my neck and I was preparing to literally hit him below the belt.

"Mother's laid out breakfast. Maybe you two could eat before it gets cold and then resume fighting."

Warmth crept up my face as I flushed with embarrassment, fighting the urge to tuck my hands behind my back and look down at the ground. From the corner of my eye, I saw Alduin straighten up, his hands uncurled and hanging by his side. Apparently Skuli had the power to shame adults into submission. Maybe he ought to attend the Moot so I could nominate him as High King.

"She says that she has apple pie and boiled crème treats too."

Those were the magic words. They were hardly out his mouth when the two of us made a beeline for the inn. Beating each other to a pulp could wait; my sweet tooth couldn't. And apparently, Alduin felt the same way too.

* * *

><p>For the first time, Alduin began wondering just how many traits he had taken on from the Dragonborn. That he was a Nord and she was one had not been lost on him; the Thu'um must have bound him in her likeness. And then there was the love of sweet treats that had never existed until he became trapped in this flesh form. Also, he was becoming extremely particular about cleanliness, something she obviously cherished from the daily baths she took both morning and night, to Leontius' exasperation. That exasperation became horror when he realised Alduin was following suit. Then, Freyja had forced him to carry up his own water from the river, under Leontius' supervision of course especially since the latter was still lugging up pailfuls of the Dragonborn's bathwater.<p>

For the first time, Alduin gloomily wondered if stupidity was catching. If it proved to be so, at least there was a river nearby to put an end to his misery. An inglorious end, no doubt, but better than sinking into the mire of her lack of intelligence.

Still, she did have at least one good point. Or perhaps two. 'Alright, three then,' Alduin grumbled at the insidious little voice that would not let up until he assess her honestly. After all, he had not managed an age of dominion over men by lying to himself about his abilities. The only reason why her kind had won was because of the betrayal of some delusional Dovahs.

He had changed into another shirt and this one fit as wonderfully as the others. During her trip to Rorikstead, the Dragonborn had procured clothes for him and even he had to admit that she had an eye for colour and material. While he still hated the constraints that came with wearing clothing, these were so finely stitched and the cloth soft enough that he barely felt the inconvenience. While no one had mentioned cost to him, the way Leontius and Skuli's eyes widened was enough to inform him that she must have spent quite a bit.

Alduin was not about to proclaim the Dragonborn as generous, since it was only right that she compensate him for the plight she had landed him in. 'But at least the woman has taste,' he grudgingly admitted even as he ran his thumb appreciatively along the embroidered edges of his garment.

At that moment, the door swung open and the subject of his thoughts strode in. As much as he did not want to, Alduin's eyes went straight to her chest before he forced himself to look away. A strange heat suffused his face, crept down his body and a certain part of his anatomy, which he had until now associated only with needs pertaining to the privy, began behaving in a way that he found most alarming. 'You will not think about it,' he ordered himself and was promptly drowned in a deluge of memories that recalled every vivid detail of how warm she felt, how soft that particular part of her anatomy was pressed up against his face, and how pleasing her form felt beneath his hands. Alduin was starting to realise why her body was given curves that his did not have.

And that summed up the other two good points that she had. Inwardly, he scowled. He had never before noticed humans, apart from his priests, let alone the female of the species. 'It must be the corruption of this human form,' he surmised darkly and that brought him out of his reverie about the Dragonborn's body and back to the business that they had been fighting about.

"I've been thinking," she announced, flicking damp golden hair over her shoulders as she folded her arms together and leaned a hip against the table. All three actions almost caused a halt to all thought in Alduin's brain, threatening to obliterate all he intended to say to her. It was a good thing he was seated on the bed at the other end of the room. Distance from the source of distraction was always a good thing.

"Says the Dovahkiin who used a Thu'um without even knowing what it was," he muttered. "It's about time."

Her lips became a thin line as displeasure pulled the rest of her face into a taut mask of irritation. "I thought it was supposed to help me defeat you."

"You mean you thought it would kill me."

"Well, with the way you are behaving now, I wish it had!" she snapped.

"So do I, especially now that I'm cursed with your form." Alduin glared pointedly at her. "What I want to know is if there is a way to restore me."

She still looked upset but the fire in her eyes melted. "The Greybeards will know how this must be done. I was going to suggest, before I was so rudely interrupted, that you remain here while I travel to High Hrothgar."

That ridiculous suggestion almost sent him surging to his feet. Instead, he merely sat up straighter. "That will never happen."

"It makes the most sense. The road there is long and dangerous."

"And how will I know that you truly intend to come back?"

"I didn't save you, feed and clothe you only to abandon you. Besides, why would I be so cruel as to leave Eydis permanently stuck with you?" In spite of herself, the side of her mouth crept upward in a half-smile. The Dovahkiin, he realised, had just made a joke.

"Your sense of humour leaves much to be desired," he muttered. "Dangerous journey or not, our paths lie together, as you said so once before. I have no intention of being left behind."

"There will be bandits, witches, vampires and other wild creatures. You don't know how to fight; you'll only be in the way."

If he had not already thought that part through while she had been washing the smell of the stables out of her hair, Alduin might have imploded with the force of his injured pride. However, he was prepared. It did not mean her words had not stung him badly though.

"I have the power of the Thu'um at my disposal, more so than you do," he said quietly and enjoyed the alarm that blossomed on her face before she forced it away. "And I won't be so helpless once you teach me how to use the blade."

"Teach you?" It wasn't so much a question as it was a shout. For a human, her lungpower was quite impressive.

"Yes. I wouldn't trust myself to your protection, not fully," he amended when the Dragonborn actually took a step forward. "Whether you like it or not, I will be coming with you. If you leave in the middle of the night, I will make my way there. After all, I have seen the place and I know the road well, though I saw it from the skies."

"You would not knowingly endanger yourself in such a manner." It was the careful manner in which she said it that gave her game away. Beneath that mask of calm, the Dovahkiin was afraid. He could not pinpoint the exact cause but it did not matter. Her fear was enough.

"I will not leave you and the Greybeards to discuss my fate. Perhaps you will conspire to keep me as I am to prevent the fulfilment of my destiny. Life in this body is not so appealing that I would fear danger and death."

He knew he had won by the way her shoulders slumped. It was somewhat surprising that he had gotten his way so easily but perhaps the same foolish softness that had driven her to save him would not allow him to wander the roads of Skyrim unprotected.

"Alright then, I'll teach you." She looked up then and there was a curious hardness about those pale blue eyes. "We will start tomorrow."

"Why not today?"

* * *

><p>'Because I need one day to contemplate how I'm going to train you to be good enough without you putting a sword in my back and without teaching you what to expect from me when we finally do meet in battle.' Naturally, I said nothing of my thoughts to him.<p>

"Because I have not slept all night and I need to rest. You males, completely self-absorbed and without consideration for others."

"I am not a man! I am a Dovah and this is only a temporary inconvenience."

"I did not say 'man', I said 'males'. It's the universal disease of your gender." Even Brynjolf was not immune to it. "I am not in the mood for arguing so you will wait until the morrow for your first lesson."

And with that, I sailed out of the room, slammed the door and fled to the other one, bolting it behind me. Sleep would not come, that much I could tell. At least not before I could sort out the storm of thoughts in my head. That conversation had not gone the way I had planned, at all. I had expected him to argue and resist but ultimately be afraid of getting hurt. Or at the very least, I would have to spend a few days persuading him of the wisdom of my plans. Him tagging along and receiving sword lessons had been, until moments ago, as likely to happen as a betrothal between Ulfric and Elenwen. And whatever happened to that damnable pride of his? I had been counting on that to help me. Alduin resented physical labour and he would not admit that I was worth a septim as a warrior. And now he wanted me to teach him…

What rankled the most was how easily I had given in. "And he didn't even know the trump card he used," I groaned into the pillow, clenching at it so hard I knew my knuckles were white. All he had to do was threaten to put himself in harm's way and I would cave in. He held me hostage and he did not know it. Yet. I feared to think what would happen when he finally learnt the truth.

And I certainly tried very hard not to think about the day when we knocked on the doors of High Hrothgar and were told that there was no way of undoing the Thu'um. I was still trying my best when I finally fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Alrighty, the Muse finally came a'calling and I hope this longer chapter makes up for the last one. Once again, thank you so very much to everyone who left their comments. They always serve as an inspiration and reminder to keep working on this story, even when the going gets tough in real life. Plus, I do enjoy reading what you have to say and any given suggestions are always considered. Shadowmere and the sweetroll come courtesy of VNO._

**DRAGONREND **

**VI. **

He did not know when but at some point in the day, the Dragonborn had disappeared. Skuli had knocked on the door around late noon and when there was no response, Eydis had opened it only to discover that the room was empty; all that was left was a neatly made up bed.

His first reaction had been to chase after her and throttle her with all the force of the outraged betrayal coursing through his system. "There's a note," Skuli announced as he slipped into the room, squeezing past his mother. "She says that she'll be back after attending to some matters."

Alduin's second reaction had been suspicion. After all, she was part Dovah and he never trusted any of his own kind fully, not even his lieutenants. The betrayal of his right-hand, his own brother, Paarthurnax, only served to confirm his suspicions. All Dovah felt the temptation of power and might; betrayal was inevitable unless one took proper steps to avoid it. However, since there was little that he could do because he had no idea where to start looking for her, and because he knew that there was a high chance that he would get himself into serious trouble if he attempted to travel unarmed and unprepared, he had no choice but to wait.

After watching him pace the floor umpteenth times, Eydis sent him out to assist Leontius with the daily chores. She must have left special instructions with the man because suddenly, there were two small trees to cut down and so very much wood to chop up. "How else do you think the bathwater gets heated?" Leontius muttered gruffly when Alduin gaped in disbelief upon hearing the tasks for the day.

At least the older man did not harass him about the way he chopped the wood now. His strokes were clean and measured; he no longer hacked crudely at the logs. Still, it was hard and sweaty work, and his hands, those soft human appendages, had become rough and there were small bumps—calluses, the Dragonborn had called them—that appeared once the blisters on his skin had healed. And through it all, Alduin had developed an abiding hatred of splinters.

Once he had packed away all the extra logs in the small shed next to the stables, the boy had appeared with a bow and quiver full of arrows. "We're going hunting and you are coming with me." He handed Alduin the dead Argonian's sword. The weapons and armour had been stripped from the corpses before burial; they had some value and could be traded or sold for a decent number of septims. "Just in case there are more bandits in the area." Skuli was doing a good job of appearing calm but there was a nervous lilt in his voice he couldn't completely disguise. The boy wanted him along for protection.

As he trudged after the boy, Alduin kept a hand on the pommel of the steel sword, if only to keep it from constantly knocking against his legs. The weight felt awkward, the weapon unwieldy when he had unsheathed it experimentally and he knew that against a trained opponent, he would not have a chance. If it came down to a fight, he would use a Thu'um in spite of the Dragonborn's stern warning to refrain from revealing his abilities. Survival trumped all else, especially since Skuli was involved. Not that he cared about the child, Alduin scoffed. It would be an insult to himself if he could not keep one small human safe. The Dragonborn would have a fine time heaping condemnation on his head, which was completely unacceptable. He had to defend his pride and protecting the boy was just a means to that noble end.

"We can wait here. Usually rabbits and deer pass by this route to get to the river." Skuli pushed him behind a small outcrop of rocks surrounded by bushes.

The sun was starting to dip westward and the light took on a reddish tinge. Evening was not too far away and Alduin hoped suitable prey would appear before long. At night, while he lay in bed, he could hear strange sounds and the occasional death cry of an animal. Once he had heard something large shuffling beyond the walls of the inn, heard the soft grunts and throaty growls. The Dragonborn's pale eyes were already gleaming in the dark and she informed him that it was a bear, possibly two. The next day, they had found the carcass of a deer nearby, its body torn to pieces. Mostly bones and dried blood remained. Night was not a good time to be outside and he found himself wondering if the Dragonborn would return before then. 'She can take care of herself,' he brushed his thoughts aside impatiently, 'especially if she has that accursed horse with her.'

Two huge deer suddenly leapt over the crest of the hill and sauntered into view, nibbling slowly on the grass. Skuli drew in a quick, shallow breath before stealthily withdrawing an arrow and nocking it to the bow. His movements were slow and calm, he moved with a surety that could only be borne from years of experience and again Alduin wondered how living in relative isolation had shaped the boy. Shifting slightly, he waited until one of the deer turned, exposing its entire flank to them. Drawing back so the bowstring went taut, Skuli took careful aim before letting the arrow fly. There was a high piercing cry, the deer suddenly collapsed and they were racing towards it. In the distance, the other deer bounded away, alive for another day.

The animal's eyes were glazed as it gasped rapidly for air, stiff legs twitching in its death throes. Seconds later, it stilled, those large black eyes turning solid and cold as the life fled from its body. Quietly, Skuli brushed a hand over the eyes, closing them. Running a hand down its neck, his lips moved, muttering silent words that Alduin could not hear. The arrow protruded from behind the shoulder; it had penetrated the body deeply and there was little blood around the wound. "You shot its heart?" Alduin asked quietly.

"No, its lungs. That's what my father called a double-lung hit. The deer suffocates but death is rapid, and suffering kept to a minimum."

"He taught you to pray after a kill?"

A smile touched his lips but the sadness illuminated his eyes, made them seem enormous against his heart-shaped face. "I wasn't praying, just giving thanks for the life taken which gives us life. Death is not to be taken flippantly. I have to show respect for the what I kill."

That was the most absurd thing he had ever heard but because the boy looked so utterly serious and sincere, Alduin held his tongue. Instead, he helped Skuli tie the ropes around the carcass and dragged it to the back of the inn. He was not so quiet or compliant when he found out that Eydis had some guests to attend to and therefore, he had to help Skuli skin, cut up and salt the deer.

"Why can't Leontius do this? I am not meant to do menial labour," Alduin muttered. Chopping wood was bad enough but chopping up dead animals… Deer were meant to be crunched up in a few mouthfuls. Why did humans have to be so particular about how the damned animal was—

"Aldin, wait!"

And because he was so caught up in his vexed thoughts, Alduin ignored Skuli, made a wide and deep cut that punctured an artery, and suddenly felt the hot, thick spray of blood on his face and chest. "What in Sithis—" Swearing was the second mistake because this time, he could taste the blood. Skuli had darted away and was laughing hysterically.

Frantically wiping at his face only made it worse. The blood stung his eyes, blurring his vision. He could feel the substance crusting on his skin. "Get Leontius to help you," he growled, dropping the knife.

"Where are you going?" Skuli managed to choke out between giggles. He couldn't help it. Aldin was usually so self-possessed and arrogantly cool. To see the tall Nord splattered in deer blood with a look of utter disbelief and horror plastered on his face was hilarious.

"To bathe!"

* * *

><p>It took an hour after leaving Old Hroldan for Shadowmere to finally make his appearance. "I was wondering when you would show up," I called out. He shook his head at me, and I knew he was still upset. Those red eyes glared balefully at me. "If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain myself. And I brought something for you." Reaching into my pack, I withdrew a sweetroll and held it out to him.<p>

After minutes of coaxing and murmured apologies, he came forward to take the treat. "I was not taking his side," I said, stroking his nose as he chewed on the pastry. "If you hurt him, you'll hurt me." His gaze flicked to me. "It was the Shout. I didn't know that it would bind him in my form and for some reason, it allows me to experience any injuries he sustains."

He greeted my pronouncement with a whinny before nudging the side of my face. "Thank you," I whispered, resting my forehead against his. "We'll have to see the Greybeards soon. I need you to look after him."

Shadowmere promptly stepped back and let out a loud snort. "Well, I can't do that if I'm busy fighting off whatever it is that is attacking us," I protested, holding onto his bridle and reins. "The sooner we get to High Hrothgar in one piece, the sooner I can correct this mistake and the sooner you'll be rid of him."

He stilled at that, turned his head slightly and pinned me with one red eye. "Hand on my heart, I promise," I said firmly. "Now will you let me up?"

Seizing my hand in a gentle bite, which I took as a sort of handshake to seal the deal, he turned, offering me the saddle and I gratefully climbed into it. I could walk back to Sky Haven temple but the road would be infernally long and running into hostile creatures an inevitability. At least on Shadowmere I could outrun and avoid them to save time.

"Now all I need to do is sneak back in, avoid Delphine, Esbern and Onmund, grab some armour and my spell tomes. And all in broad daylight. Perfect," I muttered. "It will be simple. No need to fret, Freyja."

By the time I got to the temple, my brow felt as though it would be permanently furrowed. Dismounting, I took a deep breath and briefly ran through everything Delvin and the books had taught me. The pounding of my heart receded; I stopped thinking of the possibility of being caught and the subsequent crisis that would ensue. I was a Nightingale and the Guild Master of the Thieves. Surely I could steal in and out of the temple unseen. If I didn't, I deserved every consequence that failure would bring.

* * *

><p>'Sweet Nocturnal!' The oath screamed through my head even as I bit down hard on my tongue. Frozen midway on the steps, I was trapped by a reading Esbern in the great hall and the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching from behind.<p>

"I know you are more used to magic and your fists. But you have the makings of a good swordsman. For the moment, work on the distance between your opponent and yourself…"

I couldn't hear the rest of Delphine's talk over the roaring in my ears. One hand clutched at the pack slung over my shoulder, the other fumbled frantically at the small pouch strapped to my sword belt. The knot unfurled, my fingers groped for a largish bottle, the only one I had in my collection and closed in on what I sought even as the voices came closer. I could see the shadows at the entrance now, deep and dark against the flickering of the torches….

Biting on the stopper, I pulled hard, spat the cork out and watched as it bounced softly on the steps even as I raised the bottle to my lips and swallowed the vile concoction. Crouching, I watched as a soft shimmering glow suffused my body and before my very eyes, I began to fade.

Delphine and Onmund appeared at that moment, deep in conversation, and they _would_ choose that particular doorway to stop at. Although they were facing each other, all it would take was for Onmund to look pass her and I would be caught like a skeever in a trap. "Don't see me, don't see me,' I prayed, wishing the wretched potion would work faster even as my insides roiled in protest against the bitter sourness and with the fear of discovery. According to Delphine, I ought to be at High Hrothgar by now. I would not be able to explain my presence here, much less the contents of my pack…

The last of the small glow sparks rose and faded into plain air and at that moment, Onmund shifted slightly. "What I have trouble with is parrying, especially the heavier weapons such as maces. If I could…" He looked right at me, returned his gaze to Delphine before a frown touched his brow and he looked back at me again. I wondered if it was possible to hear the pounding of my heart from across the hallway. 'Move Freyja, move it! You do not wait around to be caught!'

With that, my paralysed muscles leapt into action and I was scurrying down the steps, body low to the ground.

"What is it, Onmund?"

"I thought I saw something…"

The footsteps started again and as much as I wanted to break into a full run, I could not. 'Don't look back,' I warned myself.

"What's this? A potion stopper?"

Brynjolf was going to have my hide, as would every other thief in the Cistern for such a stupid mistake. Quickening my footsteps, I squeezed through the small gap between the heavy stone doors that I had left when I first entered the temple. The stone felt icy cold against my hands as I pushed it shut. The exit was so close…and that was when I realised I could see my gloved hands before me. "Oh for the love of Talos…" I muttered through clenched teeth. This time, I broke out into a run, trying to keep my steps as light as possible, for behind me were Delphine and Onmund. Sliding on the ground, I rolled myself behind the huge chest and tucked my legs in tightly. There were no invisibility potions left and it all boiled down to plain luck. 'I'm dead,' the grim thought flashed through my mind. I had little faith in the Daedric Princes who only wanted to boast that the Dragonborn was in their service. Well, good luck to me when I crossed into Sovngarde. There were several supernatural entities that would have to stand in line to claim me. Either that or they could fight it out while I sat in the corner and waited for the victor to take the spoils.

"Did you see someone?" Judging from her voice, they were probably poised at the staircase, looking out over the outer court. If only they did not notice the brown dust floating in the air and settling slowly on the ground, as though taunting me…

"Not someone but just…" Onmund's voice was laced with uncertainty. "Perhaps it was just a trick of the light."

"What about that stopper?"

'Just let it go Delphine. Blame it on Esbern,' I willed.

And then unbelievably, Onmund did just that. "Maybe it was Esbern. He has been working on his alchemy skills lately and you know he can be absentminded."

I heard Delphine's boots shifting on the steps. She was wavering. 'Please Nocturnal, make her go in. I swear I'll choose you before any of the others if I had a choice.' Besides, the prospect of spending an eternity in the company of a certain red-haired thief was not without its appeal. Not that I had to tell Nocturnal that, of course.

"Perhaps. In any case, I did not hear anything either…"

The sound of heavy boots walking back up the stairs made me literally limp with relief. 'Thank you,' I breathed, looking up at the bright blue sky flanked by the uneven cliff walls.

Once silence had reigned for a good few minutes, I cautiously scanned the outer court before running for the stairs, my precious bundle clutched tightly in my arms. "All this for a spoiled, wretched dragon-man who will probably throw a hissy fit when he finds out where this armour comes from," I grumbled under my breath while negotiating my way down the slippery white, fungus-covered stone slabs. Delphine and Esbern would consider it the most appalling form of blasphemy, and Alduin would think it an insult beyond compare. But I thought it was wickedly ironic and I would take a certain perverse pleasure in the latter's fury when I forced him into the Blades Armour.

Hot sunlight made me blink as I finally emerged from the temple into Karthspire. The Forsworn settlement was still empty, a ghost camp. On the other side of the rushing river was Shadowmere, who stood at the top of the winding path that led beyond the mountains. Although I had succeeded, my sense of satisfaction was tempered by the fact I was returning to train my nemesis.

The ride back was uneventful, but the sun, even as it began its westward journey, was unrelenting in the way it scorched everything under its gaze, myself included. The ancient cowl protected my head, as did the leather armour but beneath it all I could feel the sweat gathering and spilling into the crevices and curves of my body. My hair was hopelessly plastered against my scalp.

I wanted a bath.

The thought resonated so loudly in my head that by the time we reached the inn, I was urging Shadowmere down the path. The pack would be safe with him and I would have a watchful pair of eyes guarding me as I enjoyed a quick wash. Today, the cold water was a welcome prospect. My eyes greedily took in the river, a swirling sapphire strand against the emerald banks. I did not see Alduin until it was too late.

My hands clenched reflexively on the reins and Shadowmere slowed to a halt, as did my brain. Once again, I found myself gazing down upon his naked form, except that this time, he was standing on his own two feet, the water running just below his slim hips, his skin glowing gold in the red of the setting sun.

Working with Leontius had served to enhance his physique and I watched, fascinated as he ducked himself beneath the river, emerging like some Nordic god of old with his ebony black hair plastered to broad shoulders which led to a muscular back and tapered down to a trim waist. Water ran in rivulets down his skin, tracing his biceps; I never realised what long elegant fingers he had but that point was driven sharply home as I watched him scrub himself. He would never be as solidly built as someone like Skjor but he was nonetheless as imposing with his tall, lean frame.

My mouth went dry and I think my jaw might have dropped. Mara help me, but my worst enemy was the most appealing man I had ever set eyes on. Even Brynjolf seemed a distant second at the moment. Maybe it would have helped if I had seen my second-in-command without his clothes on before but since I hadn't, there really was no basis for comparison.

It was not until Shadowmere snorted and turned back to look at me that I realised how easily I could be caught staring at him. Wheeling Shadowmere around sharply, I headed back up the path, praying that Alduin would remain absorbed in his bath. Shame burnt my face, shame at having watched him in secret and at my own weakness. "Evil dragon that is going to consume the world. You need to focus on that," I repeated to myself as I left Shadowmere in the stables and entered the inn.

In my mind I could see it. A huge black dragon with cruelly spiked scales, jagged teeth dripping with blood and curved talons ready to rip out my heart. I heaved a sigh of relief. And then to my utter horror, the dragon morphed into a man, a very handsome man with indecently thick eyelashes and a body the priestesses of Dibella would die to get their hands on.

"Why are you hitting yourself on the head?"

"It aches," I muttered, brushing past a bewildered Skuli. "Must be the sun."

"Do you want a bath?"

"Absolutely." I only wished I could wash out those images of Alduin as easily as I would the grime. "If only it could be that easy," I sighed as I deposited the pack on the table, ripping off the cowl and wincing as wet strands of hair touched my face. Then again, very few things in my life were.

* * *

><p>"Put this on."<p>

"Never!"

Alduin could not believe the nerve of the Dragonborn. She expected him to put on the armour of a group who had hunted down his kind. The nerve of the woman. Obviously her brain had ceased to work somewhere between her journey from and back to the inn.

"This is the only armour that I have for you. I am not travelling without making sure you are sufficiently protected."

"I would rather bribe a guard into giving me his armour," Alduin fairly snarled. If his spine stiffened any more it would probably snap. Angry amber eyes glared at Freyja. Strangely enough, she seemed not to mind. In fact, she was a lot more comfortable now then when she had first entered his room. He had found it odd that she had avoided looking at him as much as possible. That was, until he had lost his temper and begun shouting at her.

"That armour is vastly inferior. Besides, bribing a guard is a crime," she primly stated. Alduin wanted to throttle her. Preferably with her long golden hair that she wore in a loose braid tonight. He could already envision himself wrapping those golden tresses in his hands as he forced her back onto the table and trapped her with his superior weight. He would… A rush of heat seared his belly and travelled quickly down. With a muttered curse, he spun on his heel, turning away as he fought the desires of the strange flesh that encased him. Oblivion and damnation, this body would react in the most inappropriate of ways at the most inconvenient of times. And towards the Dragonborn of all creatures! She was nothing more than a menace and a hindrance towards his destiny. 'A menace and a hindrance that fits against your present form perfectly.' Alduin resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall in a bid to rid himself of that thought.

"And today is not a day where I feel like lying in wait for bandits or seeking them out just so that I could obtain steel armour for you, which is not so easy to come by, even on bandits. Old Hroldan is far from the other places where I store my belongings, and this was the most accessible suit of armour I could find at such short notice."

"Are you done prattling?"

Ire flashed over her face and to his alarm, the Dragonborn strode forward and started to advance on him with that accursed Blades Armour clutched in her hands. "Yes, I am done explaining myself to you, something which I did not have to do but chose to do out of goodwill." Alduin tried to sidestep but she blocked him off and continued to walk him back into a corner. "Now, the road is dangerous and I do not intend to have more trouble on my hands then I already have. So you," she hissed even as his back touched the wall, "will wear this." She shoved the armour at him, the metal biting into his skin and his hands automatically came up to grip hers. "Even if I have to force you into it myself."

Her head just reached the top of his shoulder but Alduin found it most disconcerting to be staring down at a furious Dragonborn, her blue eyes flashing fire, her soft lips curled in anger and her pulse beating rapidly beneath his fingers. Their gazes held, she blinked and suddenly, her face turned pink and she practically tore her hands from his. The armour fell heavily to the ground at his feet.

"There will be no lessons with the blade until you learn to gird yourself properly for a fight."

"Dovahkiin—"

"This is non-negotiable," she said sharply, cutting him off. By now, she had returned to the other side of the room, her hands clasped behind her as she regarded the helmet, shield and sword lying on the table. "Don't you want to return to your rightful form?"

Of course he did, more than anything else. Still, it was only after a long and heavy silence that Alduin finally forced himself to take up the armour, half-suppressing the shudder that passed through him. "How do I put this on?" he asked curtly, his voice thick with distaste.

Not once did she touch him, not even to show him how to fasten the ties or adjust the buckles. She made him put it on and take it off until he was able to do it without the aid of her instruction. By the time they were done, the Dragonborn had chosen to take a seat and the candles were burning low in the lamps.

"Will I have to wear this for practice tomorrow?"

"No." She shook her head and stifled a yawn. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes and those were not caused by the long flickering candle flames. "Eventually you will but not before you master the basics."

He hated the armour, and not just for all that it stood for. The metal was cold even through his shirt and breeches; it was impossible to move silently. It weighed him down and made him feel even more trapped and confined.

"I know you hate wearing this, but you will get used to it. If you are anything like us, you'll find an amazing capacity to endure the unpleasant. You might even get used to it."

"No, I won't." Shucking off the boots, Alduin placed them at the foot of the bed and left the armour on the table. Looking down at the Dragonborn, he eyed her. "I am not one of you. Don't you feel anything asking me to wear this?"

Her face was unreadable, save for the weariness written on it. "What matters most is being pragmatic. We do what we must. This is the best armour at hand for the moment and so you will wear it."

"And if I refuse?"

Pale lashes lowered as she narrowed her eyes. "Then I will find somewhere safe to put you while I make the journey alone."

"You think to imprison me."

"I do not think it, I know I can do it." Even if it meant knocking him out and keeping him sedated while she made the journey to Riften. That would be her last resort though. The Dawnstar Sanctuary would have been her first choice but she was not going to take chances with the Night Mother or Sithis. And while she had every faith that the thieves would guard Alduin, she didn't like the thought of Brynjolf being so close to him. There was a streak of kindness in the former that even years of hardship and bitter betrayal had not managed to destroy. "Get some sleep. We begin early tomorrow morning."

To his surprise, she rose to her feet, stretched and walked towards the door. He did not stop her from leaving, only noted that this was the first time she was leaving him alone at night. Which meant that she trusted him to some extent, if only because he needed her for the moment.

Extinguishing the candles, Alduin lay on the bed, smelling the faint whiff of the smoke that lingered, keenly aware of the absence of her presence. Tomorrow he would learn to use a sword, know how she wielded a blade. It was a golden opportunity to learn about the Dragonborn's fighting style and it would stand him in good stead against her on the day they finally clashed. He wanted so much to crush her that his chest literally ached with the longing of it. Perhaps he would not kill her, Alduin thought as his eyes fluttered shut. Perhaps he would keep that blonde-haired, blue-eyed wench alive so that she would live to endure his victory. That seemed a lot more satisfying than his previous plan of killing her. He would keep Freyja as a trophy…


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: It took a long time for the Muse to come back since real life kind of killed her with tons of work. I hope this chapter will do; I have my doubts but it's the best I can come up with after rewriting the whole chapter. As always, thank you so much for the kind reviews which really are entertaining, encouraging and always an incentive to keep writing away. I hope you like this!_

**DRAGONREND **

**VII. **

When this was all over, he would keep Freyja as a trophy. Oh yes he would. Alduin doubled over, panting and hating the feeling of helplessness that washed over him as he was forced to consider his utter ineptitude with the blade.

"Go on, pick up your sword."

A trophy that was stuffed and mounted on a wall, he thought venomously as he stalked towards the fallen Nightingale blade. Its dark metal winked and gleamed in the sun; it seemed to mock him as well. Preferably a wall that faced his throne so he could gloat over her for an eternity. Wrapping his hand around the handle and wishing it were the slender Nord's throat, he adjusted his grip, ensuring his thumb was firmly parallel to his forefinger and tried to ignore the numbness that was creeping up his wrist.

"Once more. I told you, you must hold the sword with your entire arm and not just your wrist. You're lucky I haven't snapped it yet."

The temptation to drop his weapon and wrestle her into the ground arose again, overwhelming in its degree. Maybe he could take her by surprise, especially if he used the Thu'um…

"Sometime this morning Alduin, if you feel up to it…"

It wasn't the slight arch of her brow, or the tilt of her head that sent him over the edge. It was that flitting half-smile, the one that told him she was thoroughly enjoying herself. With a roar, and completely heedless of whatever she had been instructing him with regard to pacing and steps, he charged at her. She met him head-on in a bone-jarring clash of metal. The wicked teeth of her Daedric blade closed in on the smooth edge of the Nightingale sword; he felt the Dragonborn wrench her sword to the side, trying to steal his own from his grasp once more. With both hands, he counter-twisted and using his superior height and weight, leaned down on her.

Triumph filled him when he felt her cease in her attempt to take his blade; now she had trouble freeing herself as the teeth of her sword remained locked with his, thanks to the unrelenting pressure he put on her. She stepped back, dug in her feet and he pushed her harder, forcing her to slide back. The smell of torn grass mingled with the scent of the river, the roar of the rapids faint in comparison to his pulse in his ears.

Then he felt her arms give way. Too quickly, he realised with a start. Instead of fighting against his strength, she was giving in but redirecting the force of his strike. With a quick jerk, she swept both blades to the side and this time, he saw her smile, full-fledged just before she rammed her blonde head into his face. She missed his nose, caught him square at the point where both brows met and Alduin saw stars. Everything went white, tears sprang into his eyes and he felt her hook her foot around his ankle and give a hard kick. Once more, he found himself spitting dust and wondering if the accursed woman had really broken something this time.

"What you did was very clever, I'll admit that."

He opened his eyes to see her proffered hand before him. With a growl, he batted it away and got to his feet, albeit a little unsteadily. With a sigh, she held a hand out again, moved her lips in a silent incantation and he felt a burst of warmth wash over him. Immediately, the tenderness vanished, as did any lingering pain. "But might doesn't always make right; a smaller opponent with some intelligence would have considered converting a disadvantage into a strength."

That was true. Although he was considered second to none but Akatosh himself, Alduin had spent time carefully considering his underlings and their natures. Blood dragons had less stamina than anyone else, except maybe Frost dragons that were exceptionally sensitive to heat. Ancient dragons had supremely hard skin and no one except for another peer or perhaps his lieutenants would engage them in a tooth and claw fight. He had to know this body, what it could do, what could be a potential weakness that others could exploit. He had the mind of a warrior; he just needed to apply it to this body and the lesser creatures that walked this earth.

"Dragonborn—"

"Freyja. We're to embark on a journey soon and the less that title is used, the better."

"There are those who hunt the Dragonborn?"

"Yes."

She sheathed her blade in one fluid motion; he still had to be careful about putting the Nightingale blade to rest. "Why?"

She paused, and in that moment he realised just how long their training session had lasted. The moons had been visible when she had roused him and the stars had shone down upon them when she had begun instructing him. Now, the sun beat down upon them, turned the water to sapphire lined with silver, the Dragonborn's hair to white gold, and he felt the unpleasant sensation of his sweat-soaked hair and clothes sticking to his skin. His fleshed burned inside, the muscles coated with fatigue. And this was just the first day.

"They have their own reasons." Her answer was short and uncharacteristically curt. There was a slightly faraway look in her eyes that vanished when she turned to him. "We'll train again this afternoon. Hopefully we can be on the road by the end of a month."

When she walked away, that black stallion left the shelter of the trees to join her. Automatically, her hand lifted, ran down that dark hide in an affectionate gesture. It was a scene that would probably be engraved in his memory, the Dragonborn and that gigantic stallion. This was the only friend she allowed to accompany her, he realised. In all her stories to Skuli, she never once mentioned anyone else. It was always Shadowmere to the rescue, Shadowmere who had a phobia of snow trolls, Shadowmere who waited faithfully while she had been lost in an underground tomb for three days. It was a lonely picture, in some ways, and yet she had more company than he had ever had. Surrounded by his retinue of priests and legions of dragons, he was always alone and had prided himself on that fact. But that meant that nobody would ever wait for him, or help him, let alone hold vigil in the hope that he would have died. In truth, his lieutenants would have razed Skyrim to the ground battling for supremacy to fill any void he left behind.

Strange emotions tugged at his chest, and Alduin shook his head to clear them of the equally strange thoughts that filled it. "Ridiculous," he muttered, setting off after them. He had never needed anyone and he was not about to fall prey to the weakness of a human form. His mind was still that of a Dovah's, something he was eternally grateful for. All would be right and feel right when he was restored to his rightful form…

Days stretched into a week. And everyday, Freyja, as he slowly came to think of her, was relentless. She made him train for hours each day, morning and afternoon. The first few days left him so winded that he was slower than Leontius when it came to practically everything. Muscles he did not know he had ached and sleep did nothing to alleviate the pains. In fact, it sometimes made it worse. He would awake with his body as stiff as a corpse and about as malleable. So far, pride had forced him to get up. But apparently, this morning, he had reached the end of his tether.

When the pain came, it was as though someone had inserted a burning brand into his flesh and was poking it in further. Alduin bit his lip, muffling the surprised cry that emerged from his mouth. Slowly, he raised himself up on his elbows and tried to bend his left leg. The pain turned excruciating, squeezing the muscles of his inner thigh like a vice. Turning, he reached for the array of potions that lined the side table. Even in the early dark of the morn, his eyesight was uncannily sharp and he selected a red one. Uncorking it, he downed the healing potion in a single gulp. Minutes later, Alduin realised he was waiting for relief that would never come. Cursing under his breath, he reached for another one, a Stamina potion this time. The slightly sour aftertaste did not even register. This time, the agony abated—by a hair's breadth.

Cursing now in Dragon Tongue, Alduin winced as he reached forward and pressed his thigh gently. The flesh felt hard and unyielding, a mass of hot, knotted muscle that radiated waves of pain even with a soft touch. He was in the process of gingerly feeling about when there was a firm knock on the door. "Five minutes," Freyja called out.

Five minutes came and went, and Alduin was prone on the bed, clutching his leg when Freyja knocked again. "Aldin? Are you awake?"

He was but he was not about to answer to her, not when there seemed to be a possibility that she had permanently maimed him with her slave driver's pace. As it was, she was lucky he was in too much pain to send a stream of choice insults her way.

"Aldin?"

There was another knock or two, and then silence. Heaving a sigh of relief, Alduin braced himself against the pain as he pressed his fingers into the hard knot, trying to ease it. The sound of a knob twisting interrupted his concentration. "You can turn it all you want, Dragonborn," he muttered through gritted teeth. Days ago, he had taken to locking the door, especially when it became clear that she was not coming back to spend the night in the chair. For some unknown reason, he felt vaguely affronted and decided that it should not be that easy for her should she decide to come swanning back.

"Oh for the love of Talos…" came the muttered oath from behind the thick wooden door.

For a moment he thought she would leave. That was before his ears picked out another sound; it sounded vaguely like something sharp scratching against metal… Alduin barely had time to pull the blanket over himself before the knob turned fully and the door swung open to reveal the Dragonborn in all her wrath.

"You are still sleeping!" Blue eyes blazing, she kicked the door shut, snapped her fingers and the candle on the side table leapt to life with a strong flame burning at the wick's tip. "How do you expect… Are you ill?"

Before he could say anything, she was at his side, sitting herself down on the bed and Alduin tried his best to focus on the pain and not the press of her hip against his. "Don't touch me," he snapped, drawing back. He would have pushed her hands aside but he had one hand beneath the blanket massaging his leg and he was leaning on the other for support. There was no way in Oblivion that he would speak to the Dragonborn helpless and flat out on his back. Once was quite enough.

"I need to see if you are feverish. What ails you?" She frowned and he was aware of the fact that his appearance was none too reassuring. "You are sweating all over and as white as snow."

"That 's ironic, coming from you."

The Dragonborn rolled her eyes. "I didn't mean that as a criticism. I just meant that you are a lot paler than usual. Perhaps you are overly warm. That blanket you've wrapped yourself in surely cannot be helping…"

"Don't!"

As usual, she ignored him. Alduin made an attempt to clutch at the blanket, collapsed on his back and felt her pull the fur from his fingers as she whipped the blanket off him. "See, now don't you feel…"

Cool air touched his skin and Alduin very calmly removed a hand from his leg, braced himself up on one arm and used his freed hand to take the covering back from her. The look on her face was priceless; all the blood in her body seemed to have rushed to her cheeks and her mouth was slightly open.

"Not a word Dragonborn. I did warn you."

She blinked those long, pale lashes furiously before taking a deep breath. Several seconds passed before she managed to speak. "Well, one word can hardly be considered a warning," she murmured with just the slightest quiver in her voice.

"Stop finding excuses for yourself. Now, I need to attend to my leg. Your training might have crippled me."

It was a blatant dismissal and only she would have failed to listen. If there were one thing he could count on, it would be for Freyja to discount his wishes. "Let me guess. Sharp stabbing pain, muscles that feel like knots which absolutely hurt when touched?"

He simply glared at her. "So far, you've been stuck on the bed for the past ten minutes and contrary to what you think, lying here and cursing my name won't help, at least not with the physical aspects of your problem. You're going to need my help. Don't go anywhere."

Alduin was considering which bottles he was going to throw at her when she disappeared from the room, only to reappear seconds later. A sweet scent filled the air and he realised that her hands were shining and sleek with oil. "What's that?"

"A going-away present. Lie down and make sure the blankets don't slip. I've seen more than enough of you to last me two lifetimes."

"All of which is entirely your doing." He arched a brow at her, watching with smug satisfaction as some of her previous blush returned. Then it was his turn to be flustered as she slid her hands beneath the fur and he felt her warm fingers on his thigh.

"Don't move," she chided, sliding her palms firmly over the aching spot repeatedly. As she continued her ministrations, his flesh tingled lightly and deep warmth suffused his leg. There was something medicinal in the oil, he decided. Alduin fought the urge to lean back and close his eyes as he felt her fingers slowly applying pressure, sliding back and forth deeply against his flesh. Sometimes it hurt but the pain was followed by immediate relief as the tension lessened.

Skilfully, she pressed, stroked and prodded until every last bit of his muscles relaxed and finally, there was no more pain, just pleasure as she continued to massage him. By now, Alduin had given in and after piling the pillows into a small mountain behind him, he leaned back, watching her with eyes that were growing increasingly heavy. It was a good thing she was being very careful about where she touched him. By now, he had grown used to his body's reaction to her and although it was well hidden beneath the thick blanket, all it would take was an accidental brush of her hand and the roof would probably come crashing down with the force of her yell.

It did occur to Alduin that if her hands on his thigh felt that good, her hands on that particularly sensitive part of his anatomy would definitely be worth considering. However, as he could conceive of no plausible reason to engineer such a course of action, he decided it was a notion best forgotten. He was a firm believer in discarding the impossible and with the uptight and prudish Dragonborn, who had lectured him several times on the importance of clothes and the concept of modesty, he could expect nothing more.

Although he had grown sleepy, the oddity of his circumstances weighed in on him once more and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask her why she was helping him. Perhaps it was an affliction she suffered from, a mental one, more specifically. The child Skuli had gone on endlessly about how Freyja had helped send a ghost who haunted the inn on its way to Sovngarde by journeying into a Forsworn stronghold.

"She didn't have to, but she did." The boy's words echoed in his memory as he watched the Dragonborn, the way the candlelight brought some colour to that pale unmarked skin, the look of concentration she wore as she kneaded his flesh, the strength in her fingers which was completely belied by her appearance. She could take his sword out of his hand before he blinked; he could have died any number of times in countless ways over the past few days but had nary a scratch or bruise to show for it. She always careful not to hurt him, at least seriously.

Here was a mystery, his blonde nemesis who had been heralded by legend and whom he had first known from ancient prophesy. She was not the tall foreboding warrior wreathed in shadows that he had always imagined. In truth, he had thought fate would have seen fit to send him a male Dragonborn, as close to an equal as it could offer. He had never thought to see a Dragonborn who was foolishly soft and kind, who worried for the welfare of a mother, child and the hired help, who spoke to her horse and made it her friend. He had never thought he would see the day when that same Dragonborn rescued him.

'And we are meant to destroy one another.' When he was not seething at himself during training, there were times when he looked at her and thought that for a human creature, if one were generous enough, she could be considered exceptional. A thing of light and speed, sometimes he thought her a fitting addition to a collection, shining in her youth and strength. Perhaps if she yielded when the time came, when defeat drew nigh and the only way out was to surrender or die. If she bowed her knee to him, he would accept and let her live.

The thing was, with Freyja, he could always depend on her to do the exact opposite of his wishes…

* * *

><p>"Oh for the love of Talos…" The man had actually locked the door. 'As if he needs to guard his privacy.'<p>

Reaching for the small pouch at my side, I slid out a lockpick and the small cloth wrapped knife I always carried with me. If there was one thing I enjoyed, it was this. Gently, I inserted both in, shifting and pressing as I felt the soft caress of metal against metal, the tension in the thin pick as I twisted the tiny blade, the sweet scratching and yielding which told me this was the right direction as the pressure gave way and the lock surrendered itself to me. With a smile of triumph, I pocketed my tools. It was a simple lock but I had every reason to be proud. Lockpicking was one of the first skills I mastered, even before I was any good with the blade. Brynjolf used to say I was better than him, and as good as Mercer Frey.

Pushing the door open, I could make out Alduin's form in the darkness. He was still in bed, sitting up and wrapped in the furs. "You are still sleeping!" This was outrageous. I had dragged my body out of my warm bed and he would damned well do the same. Kicking the door shut so that no one else would be disturbed, I snapped my fingers and the candle sprang to life with a fat orange flame. "How do you expect…" The irate words died a swift death on my lips as I took in the slight sheen of perspiration that covered his face. He was so pale. Hours in the sun had turned his skin golden even though he was still fair but now the blood seemed to have drained from his face. There was a familiar pinched look about his eyes and mouth. "Are you ill?"

The last thing I needed was for him to fall sick. I had no potions that cured disease; I had used up the last of that when a pack of rabid skeevers had jumped on me outside poor Lund's hut. Healing spells only worked to bend broken bones and injured flesh; they did nothing to cure fever or other similar conditions.

As expected, he refused to let me feel his forehead. "Don't touch me," he snapped, moving away from my hands while trying to squirm back.

""I need to see if you are feverish. What ails you?" You stubborn, spoiled man, I silently added. I knew I was being uncharitable but the twin moons were still clearly visible in the sky and although waking at ungodly hours or not sleeping for days on end came as part of being the Dragonborn, it did not mean that I liked it. "You are sweating all over and as white as snow."

"That 's ironic, coming from you," he sneered.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at him. "I didn't mean that as a criticism. I just meant that you are a lot paler than usual. Perhaps you are overly warm." He was swaddled in the bearskin blanket up to his neck. I had heard of sweating out fevers but at the same time, Arcadia had once mentioned that if a fever burnt too hotly, it could affect a person's mind. Having dealt with Cicero, I was understandably less than keen to manage a mentally unstable Alduin. I might be forced to put him down and label it an act of kindness to all parties involved, not excluding yours truly. "That blanket you've wrapped yourself in surely cannot be helping…"

"Don't!"

As usual, he was going to quarrel with me about having the last word. I, however, was determined to be the adult here. Ripping the blanket from his weak grasp, I whipped it off him as he fell back on the bed. "See, now don't you feel…"

Oh dear gods. Oh dear pantheon of all the gods, Divines and Daedric Princes included. I might as well throw Sithis and the Night Mother in while I was at it. Try as I could, my thoughts failed me, as did words. And the worse part was, when I could finally grasp the tail end of a thought, it ran something along the lines of 'he looks even better up close'.

Alduin pushed himself back up, released his grip on the thigh he had been pressing his hand against and retrieved the blanket from my nerveless fingers. "Not a word Dragonborn. I did warn you."

He would get no argument from me there. I didn't think I could get my tongue to form a coherent word, in any case. 'Think roasted skeevers, troll fat…" Desperately I rummaged through my memories for something, anything to jolt me out of this horrible mesmeric state. "Giants' toes, naked hargravens…" Scratch that, naked anything was not good at the moment. A pair of twinkling, cool green eyes sprang to mind and I seized it like a drowning man would a rope.

"_Lass, what would you do without me…" _

I could hear his voice again, gruff and low yet so very comforting, so familiar. 'Oh Bryn, I'd be in the predicament I am in right now…'

"_Chin up, Lass. There's hardly anything you can't handle. All you need to do is stop running and face it." _

Those were the words that sent me back to High Hrothgar, to seek out Arngeir and through him, the Word Walls to unlock my destiny. Granted, this was an entirely different situation but the same advice could apply. Did I find my sworn nemesis attractive? Yes, I did, at least his outer form. Had I seen him naked? Yes, I had, twice in fact. He expected me to act the outraged maiden and either run screaming from the room or stay here screaming at him. Was I going to do that? No, damned if I was. I was a grown woman and this was not the first time I had seen a naked man, at least I would have liked to think so.

Drawing in a deep breath, I made myself focus on Brynjolf's dancing eyes and felt some measure of calm return. If I dug deep enough, I could recall the brush of his hand on my hair.

"_That's my good Lass..."_

Clearing my throat silently, I forced myself to speak. "Well, one word can hardly be considered a warning." See, Freyja. That wasn't so hard.

As could be expected, Alduin's reply was immediate and sharp. The man's claws were all in his tongue. "Stop finding excuses for yourself. Now, I need to attend to my leg. Your training might have crippled me."

He was suffering from the very same thing that used to plague me, especially when I had begun my training. "Let me guess. Sharp stabbing pain, muscles that feel like knots which absolutely hurt when touched?" Brynjolf had found me practically howling one night. 'Gods, Lass. You're going to give away the Cistern's location,' he had shushed while working out the kinks in my legs.

His golden glare was answer enough. "So far, you've been stuck on the bed for the past ten minutes and contrary to what you think, lying here and cursing my name won't help, at least not with the physical aspects of your problem. You're going to need my help." Standing up, I made for the door. "Don't go anywhere," I quipped over my shoulder and slipped out the door just as his hand reached for one of the potions I had given him.

I loved the smell of this oil, the warm tingling it brought and the immediate relief. Brynjolf had told me once the ingredients that went into the making but I had long forgotten them. Like my cooking, my alchemy skills were appalling. With me around, people like Arcadia and Angeline would always have a brisk business to run.

"What's that?" The curiosity in his voice was clear and he raised his neck, nose in the air, inhaling deeply. It reminded me of Shadowmere and Meeko, or any other animal in fact.

"A going-away present." I'd never thought I would use it under such circumstances though. I hadn't even expected Brynjolf to leave me one last gift, a tongue in cheek one that had made me cry at first and chuckle later when my wounds started mending. "Lie down and make sure the blankets don't slip. I've seen more than enough of you to last me two lifetimes."

"All of which was entirely your doing." His smile was entirely too smug, as was that arrogantly raised brow. All right, I had practically invited that rejoinder. Perhaps silence was golden after all, at least until I was sure that my brain was once again working at full capacity.

He jumped a little when I touched him. "Don't move," I scolded. I couldn't see beneath the blanket and I had no desire to come into contact with any other parts of him. The only things that kept me at my task was the desire to prove that I could do this and remain sensible, at least fairly so, and empathy since I too had once suffered from such muscle cramps.

Once I was sure the oil had worked its magic on his flesh, I began gently kneading it, applying more pressure as I felt the muscles become softer and pliant to the touch. Alduin had fallen silent and halfway through, he grabbed some pillows, pushed them behind him and leaned back. Inwardly I smiled; I didn't expect anything less from someone who was used to being waited on hand and foot. I did not look at him though. Instead, I concentrated on my memories, of how Brynjolf used to press here, stroke there and rub just hard enough to melt away the knots without making me cry.

By the time I was done, his gaze had gone completely heavy-lidded and I realised that he was more than half asleep. Reaching over, I pinched the flame quickly, extinguishing it. "Sleep now. You'll be fine once you wake up. We can train later."

He muttered his agreement and I left him in the fading dark of his room. Stretching my arms high above my head, I turned my neck from side to side and heard the satisfying crack of stiff joints popping loosening. From the sounds in her room, Eydis was washing up and getting ready for the day. Skuli was still snoring softly; Leontius was also snoring but not as quietly. Stealing outside, I watched as the pale moons disappeared, replaced by a sun that strengthened in light and heat as it rose eastwards and up. Shadowmere had vanished, as though he had somehow known the morning's training would not happen.

Quietly, I closed my eyes and thought of green ones, of lighting quick hands and almost promises. I kept them closed until the sun's light shone through my lids and when I finally opened them, my cheeks were wet with tears.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Firstly, many thanks to everyone who reviewed! Initially I wondered if the chapter was any good at all and I am incredibly relieved to see you guys think it is and I am so glad you told me so (and yes, to OO, I fully agree that Tom Hiddleston would make a very yummy Alduin). And it seems a Freyja and Alduin romance is being rooted for. I have been thinking about it, that and the rating. :P I've managed a (relatively) quick update and I hardly write action so please forgive me if certain things are hard to understand or imagine. I take full responsibility for that. Still, I hope you enjoy this!  
><em>

**DRAGONREND **

**VIII.**

I only had memories that started on the road to Helgen. In my mind, Ralof was the first man I ever set eyes on; Lokir or Ulfric Stormcloak would have to settle for second and third. The gentle sway of the carriage as it ascended the steep inclines and rolled down the equally sharp slopes gave no indication that I was being carried to my execution. The sunlight had been soft then, the scent of leaves and wood strangely familiar and comforting. And then I realised why I could not move my hands. That and the fact that I did not know anything, save for my name.

That had been almost a year ago, eleven months to be exact. And I had spent two of those months training my enemy. Quietly I waited, hidden in the long grass, watching as the evening sun slowly drew darkness over the hills of the valley. I was always most comfortable when unnoticed, little wonder then that I had been drawn to the path of the Thief. And on near silent feet he came, wariness radiating from every line in his body, sword in hand in a firm grip we spent days working on.

Those golden eyes were searching for me, the amber cold and hard. I remembered the first time I stared into them. Perched atop the tower in all his ebony might, he was both glorious and horrific, a creature whose gaze met mine and dismissed me in a single glance.

'And now here we are,' I thought, as I began to move around him. The wind was in my favour, sending my scent in a direction away from him as it rustled the grass, the sound obscuring whatever slight noise I might have made. Not everything about Alduin was completely human; his senses were exceptionally sharp, the way mine became at the moment of a Shout, just as the dragon soul within took over and it seemed as though a curtain had been drawn back and I was looking at the world as it truly was, in all its vivid, intense beauty and I would think that I had been blind before this moment…

Slinking behind a tree, I waited. It had been a long time since I stalked someone, and it reminded me of the Night Mother. I could hear her, somewhere in the back of my mind, her voice somewhat more insistent. Sooner or later, I would have to journey to Dawnstar and pay my dues. Some jobs I could give Nazir and Babette; I would always have one to fulfil. It was a bargain hard won and I had no desire to cross the wife of Sithis.

The light turned red, bathing Alduin in what looked like a rosier version of dragon's fire. There would be a moment…. he turned, blinked against the glare and in the split second I struck, leaping out, a dagger flying at him from my uncurled fingers.

'What you cannot hit, you dodge.' It was one of the first rules that Brynjolf taught me and Alduin had learnt it well. He threw himself to the side and onto the ground, getting to his knees just my blade came crashing down. The swords met in a clash that was jarring, even to me. I wondered if he knew how strong he was; there weren't many that could take that type of strike and not have their arms fold beneath it. A scant second later, warm fingers latched onto mine and I was being pulled forward. A backward roll, I realised and knew what was coming, my stomach muscles flexing themselves rigid as a booted foot ploughed into my middle. Even as he landed on his back, I was flung through the air and made hard contact with the ground, the grass doing little to cushion my fall. Usually a person lay there, winded and ripe for the kill. I did not manage to learn as many Shouts as I had by doing that. The impact was jarring but I moved, ignoring the pain in my gut, pushed myself on my side and scrambled to my feet even as Alduin came in with a flurry of strikes.

Gods, he was fast. I parried, swept my blade to keep from being pierced by what was still essentially my own sword even as he forced me back. It was a dangerous dance, with Alduin controlling the pace. An attempt to sidestep was met with a thrust aimed at my face. I blocked, he circled and then we were back on the same path he had set. There had to be something he wanted to force my back against…ahh… this particular part of the hill was dotted with little clusters of rock that were treacherously hidden in the grass.

The next time he lunged, I blocked, pushed hard and sent my sword sliding along his. Metal screamed, a faint trail of sparks feathered the blades and hilts clashed with a sharp ring that went right into my ears. Before he could react, I curled my arm back and decked him on the temple.

This was the part I hated. Not because I didn't want to hit him, he had given me more reason than most people ever had. But each time I landed a hard blow on him, I felt it too. The burst of pain, the disorientation followed by stinging and then numbness. It was like punishing myself, which is why all I ever landed on him were physical strikes. And I had to pull back on those as well.

To his credit, Alduin did not stumble back and drop his guard. Through the sudden bloom of pain, he found enough focus to grab my shirt, fingers scoring my flesh through the thin cotton as he shoved me as hard as he could from him. If he had had a dagger, I would be reeling now, with either my guts lining the ground or choking on blood-filled lungs. But he didn't and if this had been a real fight, it would be over by now, with me standing over his prone form.

"I can't fight you at full strength," I explained. "Not because I'm being condescending," I added quickly when those amber eyes started to flash, "but the point of practice fights is not for me to beat you into the ground. It's just for me to assess your battle-readiness. If you can fight off most bandit chiefs, you should be fine unless we run into Thalmor guards and justiciars."

"What happens then?" he demanded.

I grinned. "You stick right next to Shadowmere and everything will be fine."

His muttered curse in Dragon Tongue only served to increase my amusement.

Carefully, we circled each other, Alduin's eyes never moving from me and I was reminded of Helgen once more. It was clear he did not remember me from then; I wondered when I would tell him. He scowled when I bent swiftly and plucked my Elven dagger from the earth in which it had been buried. "Always be aware of your surroundings," I smiled sweetly.

Briefly, I considered upping the ante by using the dagger but decided against it. Already I could feel the familiar stirring within, the Dov inside recognised what it was fighting and I could feel that extra edge it brought to my instincts, the way it whispered to my blood, inflating the desire to win.

Slowly the circle grew tighter, the tension more palpable and when I finally struck at him, it was almost a relief. The tip of my sword was an inch from his eye when he parried, twisting as it sailed past him. He knew when I pulled back, but was not fast enough to prevent me from slapping the flat of my blade against his ribs. The contact of metal on flesh was frighteningly satisfying.

Lips pulled back in a snarl, he lunged, a low sweep aimed at my legs. I stepped back, blocked and slid the flat of my blade under his. With both hands I pushed up even as my body shifted forward, a triumphant hiss escaping my lips as the sword slid up and the curved tip tore a ragged hole in his shirt, stopping right above where his lungs would be.

"That's two." The calm in my voice belied the brightness I knew was in my eyes and both served to infuriating him. Fingers clamped over the blunt edge of the Daedric sword, pushing it aside and he slashed, a reverse strike that would have taken off my head if I had not ducked low. Unfortunately, that brought me within distance of his foot and there was hardly time to react—or to curse myself for my utter carelessness and complacency—as Alduin kicked me again. The blow was hard, landed square on my forehead and I reeled, falling on my back. The pain was sharp enough to bring tears to my eyes and I had to fight the urge to squeeze them shut and cradle my head. Then there was no time to breathe as his sword fell from on high and I braced myself, barely managing to block his strike. The impact shook me right down to the bones of my shoulder and I knew a moment of true alarm as my arm wavered and the blade began to fall. His blade followed mine down, and then I saw it, the subtle twist of his wrist as he swept my weapon aside, the Nightingale blade drawing thin line of red from my shoulder to my stomach that made me cry out.

It was only when he didn't stop, when the dark blade began cutting towards my throat that I forgot I was supposed to yield. With dragon's fire in his eyes and the burning sun behind him, Alduin's shadow covered me and for a moment, I felt a sense of déjà vu, as though this had all happened before. And I then knew where it had taken place, for in my nightmares, he slew me, over and over again.

Self-restraint snapped, the cords with which I bound the dragon inside slid away and with a wild roar, it sprang free.

"_ZUN HAAL VIIK!"_

Our eyes held for a moment before his sword was torn from his hand with a loud piercing ring and a force that send him staggering back as he tried to hold onto it.

'Take him.'

That singular thought pounded through my head as I leapt up, twirling the Daedric blade as newfound strength coursed back into my body and I realised my left hand was doing the same with the Elven dagger.

I barely felt the slight breathlessness that always followed in the wake of a Shout as I advanced on him. A running leap, a strike from the air and his head would be cleaved from his shoulders between the two enchanted blades. Through the intensity of colours, the myriad of scents that assaulted my senses, I could see him, smell him, watched the stretch and pull of skin over muscles as he fought for balance, heard the rasp of boots over grass and soil, the fury of his heart as it hammered against his ribs, the taint of fear that wafted over on the wind.

'Take him.' He was mine.

'No.' The song was already in my blood and now it escalated in response to my refusal. "No," I murmured aloud this time. Not over this, not here or now, especially not when it would mean certain death for me too. Knuckles white with effort, I forced my hands down, started lowering my weapons when I realised I couldn't hear Alduin stumbling about anymore. And then I heard it, an unnaturally deep indrawn breath.

'Sithis and—'

"_FUS RO DAH!_"

Two giants had once tried to club me to death and some Draugr Deathlords had caught me off-guard with this Shout. But all that was nothing in comparison to the might of Alduin's roar. I crumpled as the Thu'um engulfed me, driving the breath from my lungs as it battered me on all sides, sweeping me off my feet as it hurled me through the air the way a savage storm does the helpless leaves it has torn from the shelter of the trees.

As the ground rushed up to greet me, I saw it, one of those rocks Alduin had been trying to use to trip me. Either my luck for the day had run out, or Nocturnal was as fickle as any mistress one could have. Lifting my arm, I tried to shield my head and squeezed my eyes shut. The last thing I remembered was the sound of the impact I made as I slammed into unmoving stone.

* * *

><p>Had he been in his true form, Alduin would have thrown his head back, torn the sky asunder with a great triumphant cry and promptly leapt over to the prone form of the Dragonborn to finish her off.<p>

However, he was not and it was shock, more than anything else, which disrupted his rage at the traitorous whelp he had sent flying through the air directly into the path of the rocks. She had set the rule that neither of them would use the Thu'um and she had promptly broken her word when defeat stared her in the face. It was that, far more than any of the blows she had landed, which made him tremble with fury.

That, and the sudden breathlessness that assailed his lungs. The Thu'um had left him winded, sufficiently so for Alduin to realise that he was unable to summon the strength for another one immediately. The sensation was so foreign that his first feeling was one of horror, that he had somehow damaged this body, that it was incapable of supporting the power of the Thu'um. And then his eye settled on the still, blonde head of his nemesis and he calmed down. If she could use the Thu'um repeatedly and not suffer ill effects, so could he. This burn in his lungs, the feeling of his throat being stretched such that swallowing became uncomfortable… he would have to ask her about these.

Long moments passed and still the wretch did not get up. Suspiciously, he eyed her even as he retrieved his fallen blade. Bastardised version or not, she was as much a Dov inside as he was and like all of them, she wanted to win whatever the cost. And Alduin was all too aware that with the exception of Akatosh, who was untouchable, he was the next biggest prize, the one everyone wanted to defeat in their eternal quest for glory and power.

Cautiously, he approached her. He would not put it past Freyja to be feigning unconsciousness before springing a surprise attack. What would she use next? Fire? Ice? Maybe she would call down the storm on him. Perhaps she would slow time so that she could leisurely cut him to ribbons. She had deceived him, with her human concerns and thoughts, her conversations, her ability to care for others, her caring for him. The struggle for supremacy was a cleansing fire that revealed the truth about her: she was exactly like him.

The Dragonborn was lying next to the rocks with her back to him; he could make out a dark wet stain on the rocks, could smell perfectly well that it was her blood. Placing the edge of his sword against her neck, he spoke. "Do you yield?"

He could hear her soft, almost gentle breaths as she inhaled and exhaled. "Do you yield?" he repeated, pressing the blade harder so that even a hair's breadth more pressure would break the skin.

The only reply he received was silence. Still holding the blade to her neck, he bent down and taking her by the shoulder, rolled her over. The side of her face was covered with blood from a gash on her forehead. She had obviously tried to protect herself because the arm which she used was equally bloody, the sleeve hopelessly shredded with particles of stone and soil embedded in the wounds. The wrist was bent at an unnatural angle and even with his inexperience, he could tell it was broken.

If not for the fact that she was breathing, sight alone would have given him reason enough to believe he might have killed her. If only the stupid woman had let them practice with armour on. None of this would have happened.

His throat seemed to have closed up and it had nothing to do with the strain of using the Thu'um. "Dragonborn," he called out, hand hovering over her; he dared not touch her anymore, he did not know what to do. "Freyja, wake up."

Two weeks ago she had tried teaching him a healing spell. The books had been sitting on her desk for days and he had assumed they were for her perusal until she carried one of them to his room. "This is a Quick Healing spell book. I know you can't read our language but if you repeat the words after me, you'll understand how to cast it and the magic within the tome will be released to you."

He had arrogantly refused, since Dragons had their own spells of healing, crafted from their own native tongue. "_Slen Aav Drem_," he whispered, but it was just that and nothing more; he could not yet summon the power within, try as he might. Helpless, he could only watch as the dark ruby of her blood oozed out from her broken flesh and continued to mar the rest of her pale skin. She could not die; he needed her.

Then Alduin heard a sound that he had dreamt of almost every night, a sound that he loved so well that in darkness after waking, he felt his cheeks wet with shameful tears.

It was the sound of ancient, enormous wings beating the air, the sound of flying.

He looked up and his breath caught. Only dragon sight enabled him to pick out the paler flesh tones mingled with the copper glow, the huge wingspan all but blotting out the sun as the Dov circled swiftly overhead in circles that spiralled ever downwards. Those golden eyes, twins to his own, crawled hungrily over him, took in the sight of the fallen woman, and Alduin could feel the fine hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rise.

He was large, even for one of the ancient breed, the dark spikes that studded his back long and curved, and to Alduin's dismay, he realised the wings were almost perfect. There was none of the raggedness that came with having lived through millennia, no permanent injuries from battles. And this one had seen battle. There were places where the light shone which reflected the whites of scars, the uneven ridges where smooth scale ought to have been. Here was a dragon in his prime, and Alduin knew all too well that this one was spoiling for a fight.

The ground shook as he landed, the gust from his wings so strong it stung Alduin's eyes, forcing him to take a step back even though pride forbade him to. This was a lesser Dov, for strong as he was, he had not been given a name. One did not cower in the presence of those who were inferior. Still, that was when he had been in his true form. The other would not even have dared present himself unless summoned. Something cold was coiling in his belly; that same emotion made him reach down to pry the Daedric blade from the Dragonborn's hand.

He was afraid and the other could smell it. Now he knew what his kind looked like through human eyes. How utterly tall and imposing, armed from tail to teeth, scales rippling in the sun, a behemoth that looked impossible to take down. And for the first time, Alduin understood what all the countless warriors who had fallen before him felt as he stood his ground and took that first step towards what he knew was possible doom.

"I thought I heard the sound of two Dov battling. But here are two humans." The dragon lowered his head, craned to look behind Alduin at Freyja before speaking again. "I see no skeleton; there is no weak one here that has been slain."

The great mouth opened, stretched back in a cruel smile to reveal row upon row of jagged yellow teeth. "Which of you is the Dovahkiin? For the legend speaks of only one. I wish to test myself against you and bring your head to my lord Alduin."

"You look upon him." There was truth in that statement which the other dragon could never be allowed to know.

"And the woman?"

"An imposter. One who has learnt the Thu'um although she has not been given the right by blood. When I have dealt with you, I will return to finishing her off as well."

While he spoke, Alduin moved slowly to the right, away from Freyja and as he hoped, the other followed suit. When the dragon's eyes trailed to her, he flexed his wrist, twirling the Nightingale blade and the former's eyes immediately darted back to him.

"So arrogant, for a puny creature. Come then, and die."

It was the arch of the neck that gave his opponent away. It provided him with a precious split second to move as the dragon stretched out his neck, opened his mouth wide and shouted.

"_YOL!_"

And then there was light enough to set the world ablaze and Alduin felt the lick of flames on his back, smelled his own skin burning along with the grass as he ran, even as the fire followed after…


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: My Muse sang so loudly I could do little else for two days but work on this. Seriously, thank you so much to everyone who left reviews that were kind and encouraging. I know it was an evil cliff-hanger but writing action is exhausting, literally! Still, I wanted to get the second part of the battle out especially since you have been wonderful as reviewers. I cannot say that enough. This is for you. ^_^ And all the Freyja/Alduin supporters, I hear you. Romance it is then. _

**DRAGONREND **

**IX.**

Of all the things he could be thinking of as he ran for his life with dragon fire pouring after him, Alduin never expected to be thinking of Shadowmere. More precisely, he was wondering where in the whole of Nirn was that interfering beast when he was really needed. Now would be a good time for the horse to show up and distract the other Dovah who was literally, in a manner of speaking, breathing on him.

At this rate, he was going to die. And then he felt it, blessed reprieve as a weight from his lungs lifted and they filled out, and he felt the power once more, the connection with the deep magic that flowed in his veins. The Thu'um was his to command.

Timing was of the essence. Changing course, he skidded, almost slipped even as he shifted to throw his weight forward, felt searing heat slither over his shoulder and arm as both were touched by fire. A second more and he would be ashes.

"_WULD NAH KEST!"_

If not for the power of the Thu'um which seized his legs and gave them a life of their own, he would have fallen. Alduin was used to the quickening of mighty wings, the sudden rush that filled them, the strength that flooded each and every vein right down to his hooked talons as he pierced the air faster than the fiery stars that fell from Nirn's sky.

Still, that was nothing compared to the speed that was now granted to him. The same amount of power when used on a smaller body gave him swiftness never before experienced. The surroundings became a stream of colours, objects blending and flowing together as vision narrowed to focus on the coppery hide of his enemy alone. Cool wind touched his back, soothing his burns even as he raised the blades, clutching them in a death grip. Although this was his first time fighting another Dovah as a human, this was not his first taste of such combat. He had lived through many a battle, had faced many a formidable foe and now it was from these lifetimes long past that he drew inspiration.

There was only one place safe from that fire; it was by at the dragon's side. And as anticipated, the other saw him coming, lifted a great wing to bat him aside and completely underestimated the speed with which Alduin was coming at him.

Slipping under the shadow of the wing, he felt the grip of the Thu'um lessen just as he drew back, and putting all the strength of his left arm behind it, plunged the Daedric sword into the vulnerable area he knew existed just beneath the wing. There, the scales grew slightly softer, leaving a ring of flesh more exposed than any other area on a Dovah, save for the neck and belly. Backed by the speed of the Thu'um which magnified the force of his blow, the enchanted blade sank in up to the hilt, jagged metal splitting scale and flesh and Alduin felt hot droplets of blood splatter his face and neck even as a scarlet glow engulfed him. The sting of his wounds faded; he could feel his skin and flesh knitting itself with the dragon's life force.

The scream that rent the air left his ears ringing and at once the dragon turned, long neck coming in with his maw gaping, rows of razor teeth snapping as he tried to pluck Alduin from beneath his wing and tear him to pieces. Hot, fetid breath washed over him and in the recesses of that great mouth he could still see flesh and blood from the Dovah's previous kill. It was an awkward position for the latter; this one obviously lacked experience of battling humans who could fight back, Alduin thought grimly as he twisted, avoiding those teeth while striking back with the Nightingale blade. If it had been him, he would have taken to the air. A long time ago, a warrior named Birkir had done such a thing to him, but with a spear. A flight through the air had taken care of that human, although the man had hung on for a period of time that surprised even him. At that time, he had thought the human puny. He was beginning to reconsider that now.

Metal clashed against ancient teeth, a foolish attempt to snare Alduin with his tongue cost the Dovah a long and painful slash that filled his mouth with blood as he drew back, spitting and hissing.

"Dovahkiin, I will crush you!"

And then he was yanked off his feet and slammed painfully against abrasive scales that tore the soft human skin he was clothed in as the dragon thrashed hard from side to side, trying to shake loose both man and sword. If he fell to the ground, he would be trampled or mauled instantly to death. It was something he had done hundreds of times to the humans whom he knocked down. Clinging grimly to the Daedric sword that remained firmly lodged in the Dov's flesh, Alduin clenched his teeth, tasted bitter fear even as the determination to survive lit him from within. Pain and fatigue seeped in, the muscles in his arm started giving out; the fingers around the Daedric blade were so numb he could no longer feel them. Any longer and he would be flung off, and all would be lost.

Desperately, he slashed at the writhing wall of scale and muscle. Rivulets of dark scarlet streamed down, but the life force drained did little to give him the strength to hang on. All he needed was for the Dovah to be still for a moment… Even as his fingers began slipping, Alduin drew back his right arm as far as he could and stabbed the Nightingale blade straight down with all the force he could muster. The sword stayed true, and he was rewarded with an almighty roar as the dragon stiffened in agony from this latest wound and the world mercifully stopped spinning as his feet touched solid ground once more. Yanking out the sword, he reached up and hacked at what had been his true target all along.

The bones that joined their wings to their bodies were always thickest and heaviest at the shoulders. But further down, where the webbing of the skin began to grow and spread out, they also began to thin and lighten, became slightly hollowed to accommodate the need for flight. All this also made them easier to break.

The sword cleaved bone all the way down to the middle. Somewhere in the background, the Dovah began screaming but Alduin could barely hear it as he felt the satisfying grate of shattered shards on metal, swiftly pulled the sword out and swung it down again at the same spot. At that same moment, the enraged dragon flailed his wings wildly in a move fuelled more by sheer instinct than anything else.

The wing caught him partially across the ribs with brutal force and Alduin felt, rather than heard, a sickening crunch upon impact. The pain though, was felt in every inch of his body especially when he landed several feet away, tumbling to a stop amidst the ashes of the grass. 'Get up. You must get up now.' Nausea clawed at him and he fought the urge to vomit as he struggled to his feet, using the sword as a support. His left arm dangled at his side, the shoulder dislocated, and he was covered in cuts but he was more than thankful to discover that his legs were not broken. They just hurt as though Shadowmere had trampled on them. Several times.

All of that was worth it though, when he surveyed his enemy. The Dovah had not come charging over and Alduin could see why. His wing hung limply by his side, twisted at an odd angle with ragged edges of gleaming white bone exposed by torn skin. The appendage was almost severed, he realised, probably made worse by the Dovah's own actions. So it was done. The dragon could not take to the air and leisurely burn them to death here on this open hill.

If he had been truly human, he would have offered the other the chance to turn back since both of them had been battered to a standstill. A true Dovah though, did not run from a fight and such a suggestion would have branded him a coward and a fool. Instead, Alduin tried not to breathe too deeply, tried not to feel the grind of his bones somewhere near his heart as he walked towards his opponent. He could feel the lightness return to his lungs. There would be only one chance to use the Thu'um. The next strike had to be a deathblow, for either of them.

The Dovah snarled, thrashed his tail on the ground in a frustrated bid to relieve some of the pain, the huge talons digging up the dirt as the sound of his harsh panting seemed to resound around them. Saliva tainted with blood dripped from his jaws and bloodlust rimmed those pain-maddened eyes. In voice that rumbled like low thunder, he began cursing Alduin in Dragon Tongue, cursed the name of Dovahkiin and the Dragonborn's very existence.

At that very moment, the last rays of the sun picked out the glint of golden hair and to Alduin's horror, he realised why. Somehow, the struggle had brought them even closer to Freyja instead of further away. She was moving and the dragon was barely a few feet from her.

He wanted to scream at her, to tell her to stay down and play dead. If the Dovah realised she was there, it would have her in its jaws and in pieces within seconds. The effort it took to shut his mouth was only surpassed by that which he used to break into a light run, even though every fibre in his body cried out in agony.

And then the Dragonborn somehow pushed herself up on her knees and there was fire glowing in her hand. At that moment, Alduin realised that in true Freyja fashion, she would do the very opposite of what he desired.

She was trying to get the dragon's attention.

* * *

><p>Two things occurred to me as I surfaced from the comfort of unconsciousness. One, that I was in pain, a lot of pain. Two, that the earth was shaking and it seemed all of Skyrim might fall to pieces from beneath me. And someone, some thing was howling.<p>

'_Test your limbs, lass. Can you move them?'_

It had been bandits and it would have to be at the edge of a steep drop-off with a narrow ledge far below. I had been so intent on keeping my head and removing theirs that I had forgotten my lessons about surroundings. They had herded me further away while the others tried to pick off Brynjolf who was carving a bloody path through them to get to me.

A cornered dragon is a deadly one and four of them learnt that all too late. The damage had been done though and even as I stabbed my blade through the man's throat, I was already falling, fingers grasping air as though they could find purchase. The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, Brynjolf was kneeling over me and only the pain informed me that this was no dream come true.

'_Test your limbs, lass. Can you move them?'_

Eyes still shut, I concentrated on twitching my toes and fingers, relief flooding me as they obeyed the call to movement, although it took more effort and cost more pain to move those of my left hand. No chance of paralysis then, at least not from a possibly fractured skull. As the pain ebbed slightly, more focus returned and I realised why the earth was shuddering and what was making those bestial roars.

'Dragon.'

My eyes opened but the attempt to rise brought an onslaught of dizziness that made the world swirl madly for long seconds. When it finally ceased, I turned my head, felt grass tickle my cheek and through the long blades saw a sight that chilled my blood far more than the blizzards of Windhelm.

The dragon was thrashing wildly, swinging about in circles that were bringing it nearer and when its wings lifted, I saw why. Somehow, Alduin was beneath that wing, clinging to something he had lodged in its flank and slashing away at whatever was within arm's reach. All around them the ground was smoking, charred and some fires still burned, stirred by the winds.

'Move, Freyja. On your feet now,' I ordered myself silently. Biting my cheek to keep from crying out, I forced myself on my side, turning over on my front. I could feel every bruise forming on Alduin each time he slammed into the dragon's side. The stinging pains that flowered on my back, right side and arm were caused by cuts and scratches that went deep enough for the blood to run. Dragon scales, I winced, dragging my knees beneath me as I braced myself up on my forearms and realised the left one had deep gashes. Looking at the odd angle of my wrist, I realised it was broken.

An ear-splitting bellow almost burst my eardrums. There was a wild flurry of great, beating red wings and an explosion of pain felled me, sent me writhing on the ground as I felt my ribs break and the only thing that covered my scream was the dragon's own.

'Oh gods…' I swore, I prayed as bile rose in my throat and darkness threatened my vision. Digging my fingers into the earth, I clawed my way back to consciousness. It helped that several feet away, a huge tail smashed into the ground, flinging up clods of earth and grass. There was still a dragon to kill and I would be damned if I fainted now. I could faint after I slaughtered him.

Lifting my chin from the dirt, I realised why the beast was in such pain. His wing hung twisted by his side and blood lined the leathery expanse of skin as it dragged on the ground. It was practically severed, held in place only by whatever little bone Alduin had failed to hack through.

Then I saw him, rising from the dust and smoke, as bloodied, bruised and battered as I felt. "But alive," I whispered and felt a burden I had not been aware of lift. I had to help him. If the way I felt was any judge of his condition, this battle had to end now if we were to live.

He was too far away to attempt an attack, the dragon much too close for comfort and I dared not cast a healing spell; the light would attract its attention and then I would be dead before my flesh even had a chance to repair itself. Another glance revealed Alduin approaching, the Nightingale blade in hand.

The dragon snarled. Dragon Tongue filling the air and I heard my other name mentioned. Dovahkiin. He thought Alduin was the Dragonborn. If the harsh, guttural growls and spitting meant anything, he was probably cursing Alduin, or me, from here to Oblivion and back again. For once, I was glad of a dragon's bluster. It covered up any sounds I made as I crawled to my knees, ignoring the unnatural shifting movements of my ribs and the fact that my left shoulder had slid out of joint.

Sparks fluttered in my right palm, like torchbugs at dawn as they danced on the fields. Reaching deep down, I focused, the spell falling from my lips over and over until my hand was lined with living fire that ebbed and flowed as it covered my flesh. My eyes opened to find Alduin coming in at a run. The dragon shifted, turning its flank towards me, eyes on Alduin as that great tail twitched in anticipation. It meant to smash him with it, I realised.

"Oh no, you don't. Not today," I muttered grimly as I unleashed a blast of fire right at its face.

The dragon must have heard me because it turned, whipped its head down and dodged most of the flames. "You!" it thundered even as I peppered it with fiery bolts. And then that great head was surging down towards me with breath-taking speed. Instead of trying to savage me, as it opened its mouth, I could see fire in the darkness and knew what was coming.

"_YOL!_"

"_FO KRAH DIIN!"_

The force of the clashing Shouts knocked me on my back. Air sizzled and there was a crackling as fire and ice collided, the hot orange flames melting away the snow even as my blizzard converged on it, icy blasts eating away at the tongues of fire.

From behind the dragon, Alduin came like a wraith out of the twilight. Grasping one of the great horns, he hauled himself up nimbly. The dragon turned, too late, and before it even fully grasped what had transpired, the Nightingale blade was plunged up to the hilt inside its skull.

Its face was close enough for me to see those inhuman yellow orbs roll back even as it snapped its jaws futilely, the neck jerking as it slowly sank to the ground, mouth parted in a permanent death cry that rolled over the hill in echoes that splintered softly over the valley. And then it began, the process that he and I knew so well. Dead flesh peeled away, lifted and burned into nothingness to reveal the skeleton underneath and above, triumphant beneath the blood that covered him, Alduin turned his head up to the rising moons, closed his eyes and lifted his hands as swathes of white light that flickered gold surged around him, into him while he devoured the other's soul.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: What can I say? The Muse is on a roll and I have all my lovely reviewers to thank for that! Thank you so much for the encouraging comments and being so specific about what worked in the scene. Like I said, I hardly write action and this story is a good platform to improve. But it makes me so nervous too (!) and it was just wonderful to see that everyone had a good read. I am really grateful and can't thank everyone enough. ^_^ Some of you are wondering how is it that Alduin can absorb Dragon souls as well. According to UESPWiki (the bastion of Skyrim knowledge :P), it's an ability unique to the Dov and if the Dragonborn can do this, so can other dragons. Alduin, in many ways, is identical to Freyja in his present condition as well. So anything she can do, he can do too. And lastly, to Noartwist, you read my mind.  
><em>

**DRAGONREND **

**X.**

So that was what he looked like, at this moment of terrible rapture. Silhouetted against faint stars and crowned by pale moonlight, I was reminded that to the dragons who were worshipped as gods, this was a god amongst them.

It also occurred to me, as I lay there propped up on my elbows, that this was how I must look to the guards, to those who witnessed the eating of one soul by another. Little wonder then that I was never fully regarded as being entirely human. I had never seen myself truly, not like this, not until him. And suddenly I wondered if this was how it would end, if he would end up consuming and rendering unto me a fate worse than service in Oblivion to certain Daedric Princes. Or would I take him and absorb all that he was?

'What would I see?' I wondered, looking up at Alduin whose lips had parted slightly and I knew how he felt at that moment, knew the hunger that opened up to take in a soul. Greed streaked through me, hot and unwanted. As the soul dispersed and was absorbed, it brought along with it an immortal lifetime of memories, experiences, skills. Some gleamed brighter than others, those were the ones which could be seen into clearly, which spilled images, carved emotions, taught lessons about the Thu'um, the connection between soul, language and magic. And along with those, residual life force restored the body.

Glittering amber eyes snapped upon and he leapt lightly from the enormous white skull, a conquering king. That was when I realised that he was no longer injured and neither was I. My dislocated arm had been mended and I had been too busy staring at Alduin to notice I had been putting weight on it for the past few minutes.

Before I could do anything, he was at my side, lifting me into a sitting position with a firm touch that was surprisingly gentle. "You are unharmed," he breathed, clearly surprised. One arm held me in place firmly and the other lifted, stroked warm fingers across my forehead and I felt him pluck the blood soaked strands of hair away. "Your wounds are gone."

"_I have healing spells of my own, and those are far superior to anything your kind has conjured…"_

When had he done that? Between the dragon, the burst of flames and ice, and the Shouts, he could have used the Thu'um and I would never have heard it. The feeling of Alduin's touch on my previously broken wrist galvanised me into action. "Well, I healed myself. While you were…" I gestured at the remains of the dragon, escaping his grasp and watched as his gaze became guarded. I wondered if he ever thought about me taking his soul.

"Of course."

Sliding back from him on the snow-strewn ash, I hurried to my feet, hands reflexively dusting at hopelessly stained breeches. Suddenly, I found it hard to look at him. "You saved my life." A single Shout would not slay a dragon and if he had acted any later, I would have been killed.

A crooked smile touched Alduin's mouth, a gleam in the dark, and then it disappeared. "I, on the other hand, was convinced you wanted to throw it away. You should not have interfered."

"I was trying to help!"

"Any assistance you rendered was marginal. I had the matter under control."

Only Alduin would refer to a vicious, fire-breathing Ancient Dragon as a 'matter'. "Says the person with the broken ribs," I muttered. Instantly I realised the mistake I had made. Freyja Loose Lips, that was probably my true name and a deserved one.

"How did you know that?" Alduin's voice was sharp, his gaze sharper still as he rounded on me. We had been walking towards the skeleton, its white ribs shining dully in the darkness like a great cage. Now he stopped and turned, a looming shadow save for those brilliant eyes that pinned me in my tracks.

"Anyone who gets caught across the middle by a dragon's wing is bound to have a broken rib or two, especially if he isn't wearing armour." I smiled sweetly at him, taking care to deliver my words in the most condescending tone possible while praying to Talos that Alduin would not hear the fierce hammering of my heart. "That is common knowledge," I added as I start walking past him again.

"May I remind you whose wonderful idea it was to practice sword fighting without the armour? And for once, when I needed him, your damned horse was nowhere to be found."

"No, you may not." My eyes tracked the dull glow of my Daedric blade which was lying amidst the bones. It was clean, the blood and flesh that must have stained it vanished into air. "And it was your wonderful idea to send Shadowmere away during practice sessions." At that time, I had thought it a reasonable request. Shadowmere could not seem to accept the fact that practice was merely practice. Each time Alduin landed a blow, Shadowmere treated it as a legitimate reason to attempt murder. Now I knew better. Nothing good ever came of listening to Alduin.

"Your Thu'um brought the Dovah."

The sound of my sword hilt hitting the sheath as I slid it home punctuated his reprimand. 'His version of you-started-it.' Resentment bubbled up, mostly because he was right and all the rest was because I did not want to apologise to Alduin. After all, he had never once apologised for any of the inconveniences or mistakes he made. The man had never even thanked me once!

Cold air touched my skin, raising goosebumps and making me aware of just how much crusted blood covered me. I could smell soot on my person and was suddenly glad that night had fallen. "I shouldn't have done that," I conceded. It was the most I could bring myself to say.

"Why did you?" Alduin had not moved but his voice was lower, sounded closer to my ears than before and I was not sure if it was a trick of the wind or due to some other ability he possessed that I had not learnt of. An image of him surrounded by soul light floated past my eyes and suddenly I felt my inexperience in comparison to his ageless years. For a moment the feeling of being overwhelmed swamped me, along with the doubts in my heart that clamoured loudly about the folly of saving him.

"Because in my dreams, you do not stop."

Whether the answer satisfied him or not, I did not know. I swallowed, felt the dryness of my mouth and realised that silence could be deafening. So I did the only thing I knew. Counting the ribs, I stopped at the sixth one, knelt down and searched the ground, using the blade of my Elven dagger to smooth over small mounds of soil ripped from the devastated ground. Finally, I found what I searched for. Plucking the gems from the earth, I blew on them gently, using my fingers to brush off whatever ash and dirt remained.

"I believe these are yours." When he did not respond, I took his hand, opened it and dropped the emerald and diamonds onto his palm. They lay between us, sparkling like stars, cold as the quiet that descended as we made our way back to the inn.

Eydis let out a small scream when the two of us stepped through the door. Immediately Skuli and Leontius disappeared, presumably to get hot water and clothes. "It was a dragon, wasn't it? We heard the roaring but I thought you would be fine. I was not sure about Aldin though…" She blushed as Alduin turned his head and fixed her with a quailing stare. "You are both unhurt?"

"We are much better than we look," I assured her. "And Aldin was the one who slew the dragon." I refused to look at him even though I could feel his gaze shift to me.

"He did?" Eydis gasped.

"He did?" Skuli's squeak made us all turn and I bit back a grin when I noticed how large, how noticeably worshipful the boy's eyes were. Leontius on the other hand, looked singularly unimpressed.

"Freyja helped. A little." Before I could kick him, he went to his room, his latest and most innocent worshipper trailing after him with buckets of water.

"That man is insufferable," I muttered, yanking off the leather strip I used to bind my hair in its braid as soon as I entered the room.

"Men usually are, initially. And then they grow on you."

"The only growing Aldin is doing concerns the size of his head and unfortunately, not his brain." It was entirely childish of me to be slamming my weapons on the table as I removed them but I couldn't help it. "Why are you smiling?" I asked irritably.

"I have never seen you upset before." Eydis eyes sparkled but she smoothed away the smile.

"That is because I've only ever had Shadowmere for company; he does not vex me needlessly. If I had a choice, I would stick to horses." Even undead ones, although Eydis did not need to know that. The red eyes were a clear sign of some kind of magic but she was best kept ignorant of the fact that Shadowmere had spawned from a pool of darkness and was likely as old as the Brotherhood itself.

Once she left, I stripped off and began to scrub myself clean. The water was red and my hair back to its usual pale gold by the time I was done. The clothes were beyond saving and I took the spare ones I kept in the cupboard. Always the same white shirt and tanned breeches. I was a creature of habit.

After helping Eydis empty the basin and clear the buckets, I took three bottles of mead and an extra candle. There would be no sleeping tonight, at least not until I tired myself out with reading and drink. Beneath the fatigue lay a fear that had not reared its ugly head for months now and I was too tired to suppress it anymore. Death had come so close today, and once again, I had been almost helpless, crippled by pain while someone else had to rescue me.

The book was opened, the ink clear and black as the day it had been written but I could not see it for the face that surfaced from the cream coloured pages. Smooth blue-grey skin, liquid dark eyes and a smile that appeared when enemies arrived.

_"It is a lonely thing, facing all the dangers of Skyrim by yourself. Come and find me if you decide that you miss my companionship."_

How I wish I had forgotten those words. But I needed help. The Horn had to be retrieved and I could not fail the first trial given to me by Arngeir. So Jenassa had followed me in and when we finally emerged, only one of us would live and I was seething with rage and shame because there was nothing to show for her sacrifice except my double failure.

There was no tomb or underground cave now that I entered without the fleeting memory of cold stone pressed against my face, the taste of my blood in my mouth, the inability to move while Jenassa's arrows whirled and flew, and when the bow ran empty, the sword that sang out in defence as she half-dragged me back to the surface. My indomitable companion, wilted by horror and fear, felled by wounds she endured until we reached the sun outside.

"Dragonborn…" She had smiled briefly, her voice reduced to a whisper, a cold hand upon mine as my hot tears fell. "What you lack in wisdom, you make up for in courage." I felt damned by her words, not realising at that time she was asking me to be brave. And like a coward, I ran and found myself in Riften. And that was when Brynjolf met me.

Something twisted in my chest then and I knew I had to start reading or face the consequence of a sleepless night or one filled with ugly dreams in which I ran, screamed and never escaped the darkness that echoed with Draugr growling. The thought of it made me reach for and drain an entire bottle of mead.

"Wulfmare's Guide to Better Thieving," I read out loud, trying to steady the slight shake in my voice. "So, you want to make it as a cutpurse. You want to live the life of a criminal, always one step ahead of everyone and pockets brimming with septims. Maybe it appeals to you to try and earn a living by robbing some wealthy merchants or extorting your local shopkeepers? Let me give you a bit of advice—"

"You need to pay more attention to your surroundings."

Instinct and the fact that I was already on edge clamped my hands around the book as I slammed it shut, flinging it in the direction of the voice before I recognized as Alduin's. My dagger was already in my hand when I sagged back into the chair, deflated with adrenaline running through exhausted veins.

"A book about thieving. Now what is the esteemed Dovahkiin of legend doing with material such as this?" Having caught the book rather neatly before it hit him in the face, Alduin stepped past the doorway into my room and slid the door shut behind him.

"I don't recall inviting you in."

His only response was to lift an eyebrow and against my will, I suddenly felt very childish. Several thousands of years as a god probably made him an expert at making people feel small, so I was hardly to blame for being made to feel this way. 'Or it could be simply because you know you are being rude,' my conscience piped up.

'Rude?' I shot back, outraged. 'I was not the one in the doorway spying!' And that reminded me… "Just how long were you standing there?" I demanded, trying not to pay attention to the fact that Alduin had pulled up the other chair, settled himself comfortably into it and there was not much room to back away since I was next to a wall.

* * *

><p>There had been some time to think while trudging back to the inn and during his bath. When he was done, the Dragonborn was still unfinished, as evinced by the sound of splashing water he could hear through her door and that also gave him some precious minutes to consider the day's experience.<p>

The room was dark, as he preferred, and he was stretched out on the bed because it soothed the aches of this body. Alduin blinked, traced the slight cracks and the patterns of the wall unerringly, but his mind had was elsewhere.

Fire exploded against dragon hide and although he knew very well how much that hurt, he also knew it was not going to kill the dragon. When it loomed over Freyja, Alduin had known one moment of sheer panic and without thinking, he spoke the Thu'um to bind his wounds even as he sprinted towards the combatants. Her Shout pierced the air, conjured a blizzard of ice, sleet and snow that even he had to acknowledge was a force to be reckoned with. That was when he knew he had seconds to save her. She was badly injured—the woman could barely push herself upright—and the Thu'um would not be at her disposal in the moments that followed.

The rage that had given him the strength to drive the sword hilt deep into the Dovah's skull was not entirely the same one that motivated him before in countless battles. It had been born from the knowledge, and then the sight, of Freyja on the ground and at the mercy of another. If she had to die, it would be only at his hand. No one was going to take her from him.

She did not like his touch; that much was clear when he inspected her to see if the other had left any marks. Alduin opened his hand, rolled the precious gems on his palm and felt her fingers ghost over his once more, a phantom touch borne of remembrance.

Beyond the wooden door, he could hear voices, the soft clink of glass against glass, the Dragonborn and Eydis wishing each other a good night. The sound of her door closing. The distinct lack of a latch being turned.

He rose, dropped the gems on the table and on silent feet, padded across the floor to her room. He was extremely surprised and somewhat pleased when the door opened partially without it being immediately slammed in his face or followed by outraged exclamations.

It parted further to reveal a bowed head; the slumped curve of her back reminded him of defeat. Her golden hair ran freely to her waist, her hands were holding a book but the pages remained unturned. She was not seeing the words he could not read; she was somewhere far away. 'Somewhere she does not wish to be,' he surmised, feeling pinpricks of curiosity when she reached for the bottle and downed its contents within minutes.

When she actually began reading out loud from the book, he felt the curiosity blossom further. Although they had been residing at the inn for two months—Skuli had taught him the human way of counting time—the Dragonborn was still a mystery in many ways. And the Dov, when intrigued by something, could be a very inquisitive species. Perhaps if he could understand the riddle that she was, he would understand the possessive urge that had crept in the back door when he had not been looking. Besides, anything he learnt about her was bound to be useful. He still had questions from the night the bandits had attacked them in the inn.

"…Maybe it appeals to you to try and earn a living by robbing some wealthy merchants or extorting your local shopkeepers? Let me give you a bit of advice—"

"You need to pay more attention to your surroundings," he drawled. He could have carved her up three ways with a blade by now. Although he had to admit that while the first strike might be his, the Dragonborn would probably go down with a fierce struggle and take him with her.

Before he drew his next breath, the book came flying at his face. Plucking it out of the air, he realised it was a diversion and that she was already half on her feet with that gilded dagger in her hand. Her eyes were wide and slightly wild before recognition dawned in them. An expression of profound irritation crossed her face as she sat back down, the dagger dropping to the table with a muted clatter.

"A book about thieving. Now what is the esteemed Dovahkiin of legend doing with material such as this?" The cover was worn around the edges, the lines of the pages wrinkled. It was a book that had been read several times before. Either Freyja was an extremely slow learner, or she read to comfort herself during dark hours. Although he would have preferred to think it was the former, he knew well it was the latter.

She was so easy to needle. "I don't recall inviting you in."

Reaching behind him, he pulled the door shut even as he stepped into the room. He looked down at her, lifted an imperious brow and realised that her cheeks were slightly pink. She had the good grace to realise her churlishness. Her eyes dropped, flickered sideways and when she did not say anything else, he drew up the spare chair and settled himself into it. He also made sure that he boxed her in against the wall. There was always something infinitely satisfying about cornering prey.

When she surfaced from her internal dialogue, for the woman had the strangest propensity to talk to herself, she realised what he had done. Her jaw tightened, she did not bother to move back because that would have put the dagger further away from her, and she demanded to know how long he had been standing there. Her manners, for a human faced with a god, were appalling as always. But Freyja had possibly never seen him that way. At least she saw him as being more of a man than a deity. If she had not, he would be dead.

Setting the book on the table space between them, Alduin reached out, picked up another he recognised and opened it. The writing, like the people, was soft, the strokes graceful and gentle. Such things were easily broken.

"Exactly why are you looking at that? We both know you cannot read."

More human than Dovah. That was how she thought of herself. "Just like how you are unable to read the Words on the Walls."

"That is true," she acknowledged coolly. "I don't have to learn them."

"You choose not to." He had cursed her under his breath in Dragon Tongue more times than he could count. Her only response was to roll her eyes or laugh. She had never once showed interest in knowing anything about it. "As for what I am doing here, I do believe you offered to teach me how to cast spells."

"Healing spells," she reminded him. "You wish to learn?" Her eyes flicked from the book back to his face and understanding dawned in them. "You couldn't use a Shout when the dragon arrived, could you?"

It would be a long time before he forgot the feeling of helplessness, or the way the blood flowed freely from her injuries. She did not have to know that though; he would let her jump to whatever conclusions she had arrived at. "Not immediately after teaching you a lesson."

"That was a lesson? Breaking my wrist and almost cracking open my head was a lesson?" She sounded so outraged that when her fingers twitched, he half-expected her to go for the dagger.

"Those, I did not intend for. I had forgotten how fragile you humans are."

"I'm sure after this evening you'll find it hard to forget that fact."

"For once you are right—ouch!" He glared at Freyja who was smirking in her chair. "You kicked me!"

"Consider that payback." She reached for another bottle of mead and to his surprise, handed it to him. "And this an apology."

After a moment, he accepted it from her. "You are a strange creature, Freyja Dragonborn."

"So everyone keeps telling me. Almost everyone."

"And who was the one who did not?" He did not like the way the edges of her mouth curled up in a tiny, almost secretive smile, or the way her pale blue eyes shone for a moment.

"A friend."

It was another human male, he was sure of it. And while he would have been very interested in obtaining that friend's name, Alduin also realised that she was not going to say anymore about her 'friend'. Taking a tentative sip from the bottle, he started in surprise at the cold sweetness that spread over his tongue, lingering even after the liquid made its way down his throat to nestle warmly in his belly. "What is this?"

"Nord mead. Do you like it?"

He took another careful sip again. "It has its merits."

"Enough to consider not destroying the world?" She shrugged at his pointed stare. "You can't blame a Dragonborn for trying."

"Try again," he replied dryly. She tried not to smile but her chuckle could not be entirely stifled. "You find this amusing?"

"Isn't it? Look at us. We're sworn enemies and under any other circumstances, we'd be trying to cut the other's heart out. Instead, we've saved each other and are having a drink. If that's not funny…"

She had a point there. If anyone had told him such an event was to occur in his future, he would have killed them for such foolish blasphemy and declared the world would have ended twice over before such a travesty took place.

"You haven't answered my question. What are you doing with a book that teaches you to steal?"

He watched as she took another drink, the curve of her throat and the way it moved, the pale lashes glinting as she stared at the candle's flame. Then she glanced at him and he knew she would share at least that much.

"Even esteemed Dovahkiins need money to eat. Somehow the bards tend to forget about that when they write their songs."

"You do not seem to be poor now."

"That was a long time before. You should have seen me—" Freyja's eyes widened slightly and suddenly, she was overcome with a fit of coughing which required a very long drink.

"You were saying?"

"I was very poor and thieving was one way to survive. You said you wanted to learn some healing spells?"

Alduin's smiles were usually reserved for moments of great triumph, which usually meant someone who opposed him had died a terrible death. But at the moment, he found her a most entertaining creature. "Your conversational evasion skills need a great deal more practice."

She scowled before snatching the book from his hands. "Repeat the words after me."

"As you wish." When she glared at him again, he moved his chair back, placing himself out of reach of her boot. "Do proceed."

She muttered something about patronising bastards that he was clearly meant to hear. Warmed by the mead and in an unusually good mood, Alduin did not mind in the least. For the moment, all was well.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Well, I must say I was surprised that so many people enjoyed the last chapter! Yes, bonding over alcohol, to quote Sin of the Fallen, is classic, especially since they are Nords. Many, many thanks to everyone who commented on Alduin's characterisation! I'm slowly working my way into his background and why he is the way he is and your reviews give me courage to believe that yes, I am not screwing it up. And those of you who showed Freyja love, I cannot thank you enough. As for someone getting drunk, it won't be Alduin although it will be a night to remember. Brynjolf will also be appearing in this story, when the time is right. I'm too big a fan to leave him out. Enough spoilers from me! And as always, I hope you enjoy this._

**DRAGONREND **

**XI.**

A week after the slaying of the dragon, I decided that it was time for us to leave. 'It is time,' I insisted to myself even as I tidied my pack, noting how much emptier it was now that the armour, several spell tomes and my store of Black-Briar Reserve was gone. A small scowl touched my lips. I should have known better than to offer any to that insufferable man. That night, Alduin had behaved like a true Nord and I was seriously contemplating using alcohol as a reason to dissuade him from destroying the world. He had drunk both my bottles of mead and when I had taken out the sapphire bottles with their elegantly scrawled labels, he had been beyond curious and demanded a taste. I had complied, and the rest, as the bards say, was history. And the worst part was, he had looked completely sober even as we continued with the spell tomes late into the night. In spite of what Vilkas might insist, I was no milk-drinker. But downing four bottles of mead, especially the potent Reserve, would have had at least some visible effect on me. Alduin did not so much as flush and when he returned to his rooms, his steps were as steady and sure as ever. Life was unfair, I decided.

Checking the fastenings of my belt, I slipped my Elven dagger into its sheath, did the same with the Daedric sword and tightened the fastenings of the Amulet of Talos that hung from my neck. Tracing the intricate grooves of its gold-green surface, I closed my eyes and uttered a prayer, beseeching the Dragonborn god for a safe journey. I always prayed, even though when push came to shove, I would trust to my sword-arm and wits to get me out of a tight spot. But I had not made it thus far without good fortune and so there was something to be said for prayer.

A quick glance around the room confirmed that I had taken everything I needed. I was ready. That thought sent a wave of anxiety which spread through my chest and ended in a tight knot above my heart. Alduin was already relatively skilled with a sword, he had displayed intelligence during a life and death tussle with a dragon, he had learnt with inhuman speed how to fight while clad in heavy armour. And to add to his repertoire of Shouts, he now knew several healing spells and how to cast a greater ward. He knew everything that he needed to protect himself. And so we would take the road to High Hrothgar that would lead us into our final battle and one of us to our death. The knot in my chest twisted further.

"Don't be stupid," I muttered. "You can't afford to be sentimental." The truce between us was born out of necessity, I couldn't even call what we had friendship. We were civil to each other because being hostile all the time would be exhausting and needlessly unpleasant. "Eyes on the goal Freyja." And the goal was all about wanting to live, to save this world so that I could find my place in it. I would die before I let Alduin take Brynjolf, Skuli or faithful Lydia. Yet for all that conviction, it was becoming harder to remember him as he truly was. The sooner we met the Greybeards, the better.

* * *

><p>Alduin emerged from his room to find a small farewell party waiting for him. Stopping, he eyed Eydis, Skuli and Leontius warily, wondering what they wanted. Previous experience had taught him that upon leaving his great halls, people were wont to bow, scrape and throw themselves out of the way, which was natural since he had ordered that precise type of behaviour. This, was a novelty.<p>

Eydis was somewhat misty-eyed as she held out a pack that was obviously stuffed to the brim. The straps had to be knotted several times to keep the lid shut; each corner fairly bulged with… "Rations. Just some cured meat, vegetables and spices for the journey. I never really thanked you, for what you did."

"What I did?" Alduin echoed, mystified.

"You've been so good to my boy. And you've helped look after Freyja as well."

Alduin was not quite sure how to respond to that. Skuli's presence had become something he had grown accustomed to. Hunting with the child had been a useful experience to test his skills and sharpen his instincts. Fishing had become a competitive sport, one he looked forward to although he would cut off his tongue before confessing that to anyone. And since Skuli was the only one who ever fished, it was by default that the boy was always with him. He had not set out to be 'good' to him; it was simply something that happened. As for looking after the Dragonborn, there was no explanation for that which he wanted to offer Eydis.

Instead, Alduin reached out, took the pack from the woman and muttered, "You are welcome."

"You'll find out just how welcome when you make camp with Freyja," Skuli piped up. His brown eyes twinkled but beneath the surface merriment, Alduin could sense a resigned sadness. Perhaps the boy had grown more attached to him than he had realised.

"Why is that?"

"Skuli," Eydis shushed, but to no avail.

"She cannot cook to save her soul. Not even a giant would be able to stomach her food."

That was not news he wanted to hear. Alduin had assumed that when they needed food, they would stop at inns. Apparently, this was not always going to be the case. He shuddered imperceptibly at the thought of having to skin animals and cut up the various joints. He never wanted to do that again. Maybe he could make the Dragonborn carry out those tasks.

"That theory has yet to be tested." Her voice was cool and reproving, but the hand that dropped on Skuli's head ruffled his red hair affectionately. With a start, Leontius and Eydis turned around. Alduin wondered exactly how she did that, materialising out of nowhere as she announced her presence. It was unnerving and impressive. "I'll let you know if the giant lives or dies."

"Poor giant."

"Impertinent brat," Freyja shot back, cuffing him lightly on the side of the head. Skuli was about to say something when he frowned, reached up and from behind his ear, withdrew a silver ring. The metal glittered with unnatural brightness and Alduin could feel the echo of a spell from within its depths. "It's an enchanted ring of archery," Freyja explained, confirming his suspicions. "Nothing will escape your bow."

The look in the boy's eyes was a sight to behold. His thanks was uttered so softly that it could barely be heard but there was so much gratitude on his face that it more than made clear what he had said.

It was slightly startling to see Eydis and Freyja embrace each other in farewell. Alduin eyed Leontius, and was happy to note that the latter was not going to attempt to hug Freyja as well. The man wore his usual stoic expression, but his eyes did soften whenever they glanced at Eydis.

"I wish you could stay longer," Eydis murmured, sniffing slightly as she released Freyja.

"We must go. However, you don't have to worry about bandits anymore." The announcement made Alduin's ears perk up.

"What do you mean?" Leontius interrupted.

"Someone will watch over the inn during my absence." The Imperial looked as though he wanted to ask more questions but there was something in the way that Freyja glanced at him which made him shut his mouth.

"You have our thanks," he finally replied.

Alduin waited impatiently while the farewell went on for a few more minutes. How much hugging was going to take place? And just why did humans feel the compulsion to touch each other so much? When they finally made it out the door, he felt relieved. Before he could walk over to a waiting Shadowmere though, Freyja stopped him.

"Say something to Skuli," she whispered, taking the pack from his hands. "The boy likes you too much for you to leave without a word."

"That is not of my doing and entirely his own."

"I'm not blaming you for anything! Just for once, be kind."

Even though she kept her voice low, the way she drew back her lips and the narrowed corners of her eyes more than displayed her great displeasure. The Dragonborn was going to be very upset with him if he did not do as she asked. From above her head, he looked at the boy and noted from the slightly slumped shoulders and the trembling smile that Skuli was genuinely sad to see him leave.

It was the first time anyone had ever responded to his impending absence in such a manner. Perhaps it did warrant something more from him. Kindness was a sentiment for fools. This was more a reward of sorts, for pleasing him. Freyja had gifted the child with a ring; perhaps that was the appropriate thing to do as well.

Grimacing as the heavy armour grated almost imperceptibly, he withdrew an emerald from the pouch attached to his sword belt. "This came from the dragon which I killed," he said, holding it out. The radiant green seemed to capture all the light around; under the sun it glittered like living fire. "It is flawless, a fine specimen. You deserve it."

Skuli's mouth had fallen open; he made no attempt to take the gem. "I-I don't think I can accept this."

Usually when he presented a prize to his priests, they would utter praises about his generosity and greatness. They had never once refused the gift. "That is for me to decide," Alduin corrected, arching a graceful bow in silent command. "Hold out your hand."

In the end the boy obeyed. "Will you come back?" he asked.

If everything went according to plan, yes. He would kill Freyja whom Eydis and Skuli were so fond of and proceed to tear Nirn apart. It was his destiny. "I will," he said shortly. The boy smiled, knowing nothing of the terrible thoughts that ran through Alduin's mind and he found himself thinking that it was better this way. He would make it quick for the child and his mother. They need not suffer.

He did not turn around even though Freyja did several times, waving until they were out of sight of the inn. With one hand she held Shadowmere's bridle, the other rested on the hilt of her sword. "Why do you not ride the beast?"

She frowned at him, and one red eye turned to glare menacingly in his direction. Alduin smirked, knowing that he was well out of biting and kicking range. "Shadowmere will not allow you to ride him and there is hardly any point in me doing so if we have to proceed at this pace."

"A stubborn animal."

"I could say the same thing applies to you, especially when I consider what you are beneath that skin."

The Dragonborn had a lot to learn if she still insisted on naming the Dovah as animals. If anything, they were a superior species to any that Nirn had produced. Her words pricked but they offered him an opportunity he could not resist. "Should not that ring true for you as well?"

She had pushed the cowl off her head and tucked the mask beneath her chin. The stiff expression on her face was clear for all to see. "I am not a dragon."

"Not at all. You just have the soul and blood of one coursing through your being."

"According to your brethren, there is a very clear distinction between us."

Of course they had taunted her. It was in their nature to do so. After all, the Dovah knew words were weapons, in every sense. "What did they say?"

"The truth." Her voice was flat and hard, but there was a brittleness that her words belied. So she did care what others thought of her, even if they were her foes.

"_You are a strange creature, Freyja Dragonborn."_

"_So everyone keeps telling me…" _

That was one question answered. What he would like next to know was why it mattered so much.

* * *

><p>Actually, I could not remember most of what the dragons had said to me. The one that would always remain ingrained in my memory though, was the Frost Dragon I had encountered outside Windhelm. One minute I had been talking to Scouts-Many-Marshes and sympathising with his plight concerning the Argonians' low wages, the next everyone was screaming as a great shadow fell over us along with a blizzard that chilled me to the bone. With my practically non-existent Nord resistance to the cold, it hurt. A lot. It didn't help that the dragon was trying to corner me while my acquaintance cowered behind my back.<p>

"Dovahkiin! So this is what you look like." There was a malice in that low gravelly voice that made me look up through the snow that whipped at my face. "A wingless half-breed that crawls on the ground before your betters. Behold the Born Hunter of Dragonkind." I remembered not being able to breathe as those words sunk into my ears. Unlike the others, I could not ignore this.

The battle had taken me into the heart of Windhelm city. Towards the end, the dragon was crawling on trembling wings, snapping futilely at the guards who slashed its wings to ribbons. In spite of the hail of arrows that fell, I had rushed in, charged headlong at the dragon. What happened next would haunt me always. My Shout slammed into the beast, smashing it against the great doors of the palace which rattled as they withstood its body. Too weak to fight back, it could only glare at me, those huge eyes blazing into mine. I never looked away as I carved out its heart. No one touched me, not even when the last of the soul light had vanished. I stood there, trembling in a covering of blood that was still warm despite the snow that fell. That day, I did not know myself.

As though sensing my dark thoughts, Shadowmere brushed my hand softly with his muzzle, bringing me back to the present. "I'm alright," I whispered. He whickered softly, and I sensed rather than knew what he was saying. "I won't listen to him."

That didn't mean that I wasn't mulling over his questions in my head. For some reason, Alduin seemed to be prying, trying to peel off the protective layers I had wrapped myself in against him. He wanted to know about me. Except for Brynjolf, no one did. Lydia served me loyally because I was her Thane; she never questioned, never asked anything apart from what I required of her. All the Jarls ever wanted were to give me tasks to prove myself while serving their purposes. The townspeople saw me as part of a myth and legend come to life. Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius had both attempted to recruit me only because I was the Dragonborn; they wanted to use me to legitimise their war. Nazir and Babette were loyal because the Night Mother had put her stamp of approval on me, again I suspected, because of the blood I carried. And these people, some whom I knew and loved, I sometimes felt saw me as only the Dragonborn. There was so very little of my true self, of Freyja that remained.

'He is not Brynjolf,' I thought fiercely, trying to ignore the feel of his speculative eyes on me as well as the heat from the sun. "And he is not like you. Whatever you tell him, he will use to bring you down." It didn't stop the familiar lick of hunger that had been slowly resurrected these past two months. I had companionship. And if I was not careful, my desire for a connection was going to be my undoing.

The rest of the journey was spent in long periods of silence, punctured only by the occasional question from Alduin. The straight road through the heart of Skyrim was not an option; there were three powerful factions looking for me and two of these had armies while the other had the country under its thumb for the longest time. Instead, we would take the less travelled routes, through valleys and mountain passes that most steered clear of. If all went well, we would be able to reach the more isolated back road that would eventually lead us past the Twilight Sepulcher. As a result, there was an abundance of flora and fauna to view as we walked. Sometimes he would ask the name of a plant that caught his eye. At times, he would ask about a brightly coloured insect that darted across our path. He seemed to pay particular attention to butterflies, as though he had never seen them before. Actually, there was a good chance that he had never noticed them, the high and mighty Alduin. Always, he observed. As man or dragon, there was a fierce intelligence he displayed.

We were climbing the steep path over the mountain, and I was contemplating whether I ought to beg Shadowmere to carry both of us when both he and Alduin suddenly turned. And then I heard it, the sound of swiftly running footsteps. Someone was following us. "Remember, no Shouts unless absolutely necessary," I warned even as my hand crept to the hilt of my sword. Alduin already had the Nightingale Blade drawn. A curly brown haired man came around the bend and I recognised the nondescript brown uniform and the somewhat stained yellow sleeves and hood. It was a courier.

"Let me guess. A letter from a friend," I said, stretching out my hand for the sealed note.

"I don't know. I just deliver the messages," he shrugged. "And don't be asking me if I know sent it either. Your notes always appear on the station's doorstep and we've never seen who leaves them there."

I watched as he turned around and disappeared. Personally, I thought couriers were amazing. It was a thankless, dangerous job and to my knowledge, they weren't armed but somehow or other, they always managed to track me down, even found me at that horrible steaming swamp where I had been seeking out a Word Wall. It had been such a strange sight. Even as I had slid down the edge in a bid to avoid the dragon's fire and was clinging on for all I was worth, I caught sight of the courier waiting at the bottom of the small mountain, his eyes as round as saucers but his feet firmly fixed to the ground. The man was actually going to wait.

Breaking the seal, I unfolded the page, half aware that Alduin had come up beside me and was looking at the letter as well. "What does it say? Read it to me."

"Yes my lord," I drawled sarcastically.

"Servitude befits you, Dragonborn."

"I said to call me Freyja."

"Of course. Freyja." His warm breath touched my ear and in spite of the day's heat, I shivered and my heart jumped against my ribs. For a moment, I forgot all about the paper in my hand. "Aren't you going to read the note?"

'Bastard,' I swore silently even as my eyes scanned the words. "Freyja, you caused a bit of a stir near Old Hroldan when you demonstrated the power of your Thu'um." Beside me, Alduin shifted and a quick glance up showed that he was frowning, those fierce black brows almost touching. "Not everyone is anxious for the return of the Dragonborn. I, for one, desire to see you grow and develop your talents. Skyrim needs a true hero these days."

"How does this 'friend' know where you have been?"

And here I was thinking that he would take offense at the title bestowed on me or the fact that the person had neglected to mention the power of his Thu'um. "I have no idea." The only person who knew where I was happened to be miles away in the Dawnstar Sanctuary. Nazir had sent two Brotherhood recruits to watch over Eydis and her family at my behest. "This has happened a few times before though."

"A few times and you still haven't tracked down the one who has been spying on you?"

"I've been busy." I considered adding that I had been busy trying to get stronger so that I could stop him but decided discretion would be a better choice for the moment. "And this person has been rather helpful." I was also not going to tell him all attempts to find this mysterious benefactor had run into a dead end. That was embarrassing, since I was the official leader of two of Skyrim's most secretive organisations.

"You should turn your attention to Valthume. I understand it holds a mysterious source of power that can only be unlocked by the Dragonborn. Sincerely, a Friend."

Alduin had moved even closer and I resisted the urge to shift away. "This is not the same friend you told me about the other night."

"What? Of course not," I blurted out. "Is that what's been bothering you?"

"What bothers me is your ignorance in this matter. So why is this person sending you the locations of Word Walls?"

"My ignorance—wait…how did you know?" I regretted that question the moment it came out of my mouth.

Alduin sighed patiently. "Freyja Dragonborn, the Dovah have been guarding those walls in order to prevent your kind from misusing our language. I have seen the carnage you leave behind, along with Walls that now lie dormant because you have taken the power that had been slumbering for centuries." He leaned down, so close our noses were almost touching and he smiled. "Just because you have transformed me into a man does not mean I have lost any of the intelligence gifted to the Dovah."

And to prove that, he stepped neatly out of the way just as my foot descended. I missed him by a hair's breadth. "What a pity you've not lost any of the bloated ego you dragons are cursed with," I muttered. "Come on, let's continue. We only have a few hours more of daylight before we make camp."

"You do not intend to go to Valthume?"

Astonished, I stared at him. "You want me to go there? I thought you just said the Dovah were completely against humans learning Dragon Shouts."

Alduin merely looked around, thought for a few minutes and turned to face south. "The tomb is that way."

I had not even looked at the map to see if Valthume had been marked out as a location but I was far from surprised to find out that he knew exactly where it was and what it was. "What is in there that you want so badly?"

Shuttered golden eyes met mine and his face was an undecipherable mask. "You want the Word, I need some information. Regardless of whether you follow or not, I am going."

I realised that he was serious when he walked away, his figure receding into the foreground while I stood there. Short of knocking him unconscious and fighting him every step of the way once he awoke, I had no other choice but to follow. These tombs were full of peril and I could very well die if he ran into danger that he could not overcome. 'Or would the Draugr make way for him if he identified himself as Alduin?' Did the undead possess a magical awareness that would place them on his side? I could be walking right into a trap. And I would be alone. Shadowmere could not follow and I would not ask him too even if he could.

I had no choice though. "He won't kill you, he needs you," I whispered. "Don't be overly imaginative." I brushed my fingers over the Talos amulet once again, breathing a prayer to one god before I began trailing after another.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hey everyone, I'm back again with the Muse's latest offering. It's really late here so please forgive any mistakes and be kind enough to point them out. I will correct them asap. I can't thank everyone enough for the lovely, lovely reviews which act as a much better morning perk-me-up than caffeine! You have all been so good in different ways, from the long, detailed reviews to leaving a review for each chapter you read. _As much fun as this fic is to write, you guys really make it that much more exciting and challenging because I want to give my best. And you have also kept me updating regularly, which is miraculous because I have such a shoddy record._ Paarthurnax and a showdown between Freyja and Alduin have been mentioned and the story will eventually get there. I don't want to spoil anything but suffice to say, my original ending changed. :) Vablatzky left a spot-on review and I borrowed a line from that as well! It went so perfectly with what Freyja had inside her head. Shmeeko, I could've attached the 'un' to 'civil'; that would have made for a good laugh. :P Last but not least, I hope you have fun with this chapter._

**DRAGONREND **

**XII.**

He had heard about Valthume but he had never been there before. It had been in the midst of the war, and it had happened during a time when he had been forced to contemplate the unthinkable. The Dov, it seemed, had much more than a simple fight on their hands. From the South and East came rumours of dragons falling to human warriors who, unbelievably, were reported to have used the Thu'um. His forces in these areas had been stymied as well. Alduin had sent out Viinturuth along with three Ancient Dragons to ascertain if there was any truth to such alarmed mutterings. It had been at that moment that Vokun, flustered and panting, entered his great halls without the usual ceremony of prostrating himself and waxing lyrical about the greatness that was Alduin. In truth, the brown-haired Nord was singularly lacking in poetic talent whatsoever, unlike Volsung, who had a tongue spun from silk. It was more for private, and sometimes public, amusement that Alduin allowed the man to go on and on before allowing him to rise.

Such an affront would not have gone unaddressed save for the fact that the pale Nord was as white as a sheet and he was actually shaking. "My lord," he cried, throwing himself on his knees within the shadow cast by Alduin. "Terrible tidings, oh my lord!"

And apparently that was all the man was going to say, apart from wringing his hands, along with the gold embroidered sleeves of his ceremonial robs, into knots. Alduin briefly contemplated swiping a claw at Vokun to knock some sense into him. The blow might break a bone or two but it would not kill him. Still, now was not the time to be maiming his priests for little worse than stupidity. "Well, tidings of what?"

"Krosis has been cornered near Shearpoint, my lord. His forces have been scattered and the great Dov you sent to assist him slain by—" Alduin's roar of rage sent the man flat on the ground, hands pressed to his ears as he trembled violently.

"Who has committed such blasphemy? Speak!" His throat was afire and flames sparked at his teeth. The smoke from his maw snaked through the air, ominous and grey. "Vokun…"

"It was Hakon One-Eye and his wretched sister, the one they name Golden-Hilt. They used the Thu'um!"

"Where is the messenger who sent this news?" Inwardly, he reeled. So it was true. This was the basest treachery of all. For only a Dovah could have taught a lowly human the most sacred of the tongues, oldest and most powerful. There was a traitor in his house, a traitor to the entire Dov race.

"In the courtyard, my lord. A Frost Dragon who survived the flight to send us the news—"

"See to his wounds. Bid him shut his mouth about the _Jorres'_ newfound ability to use the Thu'um or I will silence him myself." Vokun was already halfway through the great archway when Alduin remembered something that had almost slipped his mind. "Vokun, where is Hevnoraak? He should have arrived by now to relieve you of your duties." As he was with his lieutenants, Alduin was wary of his priests. While they posed no significant threat, he did not want them colluding with any other dragons and entertaining foolish thoughts of deposing him to raise another to the throne. Each month, a different priest would wait on him; it was his way of keeping potential enemies close and perpetually terrified of him.

Vokun bit his lip and stared at the ground. He tried to look up but flinched and Alduin wandered how a man ambitious enough to sacrifice three brothers in a bid to win the title of Dragon Priest could display such weakness before him. "I sent him your summons, my king. He remains yet at Valthume, in his personal chambers. No entry was granted my messenger who was ordered to leave on pain of death."

Alduin almost disbelieved his own ears. "This is rebellion."

In spite of his terror, a sly look shadowed Vokun's face. It was so quick that Alduin would have missed it if he had glanced away. "It is rumoured that Hevnoraak has secrets in Valthume, my lord. They say he has conjured a way to live forever, in defiance of your power. The dwelling holds much lore he has discovered by digging deep into the earth's bowels."

Even when they were faced with disaster, his Priests never lost their appetite for power. And it was no secret that Vokun coveted Hevnoraak's mask and staff, the trappings of authority accorded each Dragon Priest.

"We will leave him in his chambers for now. You have more important matters to attend to. See to the messenger. And send Odahviing and Paarthurnax to me," he added as an afterthought.

"Yes, my lord," Vokun bowed, looking suitably chastised as he heard the subtle rebuke.

Caught between the Priest's blatant rebellion and the terrible news of the humans learning the Thu'um, Alduin had given the latter all his attention.

A bitter smile curled his lips. His brother had been so silent that day. He had assumed it had been shock, for one of those slain at Shearpoint had been a female Dovah Paarthurnax had known as a mate. Little had he known the traitor who would ultimately cost them the war was standing right next to him, listening in as Odahviing and he argued strategy. He wondered where Paarthurnax was. He had not seen a trace of him in spite of traversing the whole of Skyrim by wing.

During those dark years when he had been locked beyond time and in space, Alduin had much time to contemplate his return and all that he would accomplish when that occurred. One of his earliest resolutions had been formed even as he had been spinning through the void. 'Treachery must be repaid.'

There were footsteps behind him. There had always been, but now they were closer. Alduin glanced over his shoulder to see Freyja come up beside him. Shadowmere brought up the rear, those red eyes like glowing coals even in the light of day.

"You truly intend to enter the tomb?"

Alduin merely turned and continued to walk straight ahead.

"What is this information you seek?"

His response was to walk faster. Unfortunately, Freyja would not take the hint and she increased her pace to keep up with him.

"Do you even know what is inside?" she persisted.

'Yes,' he thought grimly. 'Of course I do.' If Vokun had spoken truly, and chances were that he had, for Vokun's personal spy network was rivalled only by his own, then Hevnoraak would be alive and waiting inside. The sorcerer was a Nord but had been exceptionally gifted in the craft of magic, delving deeply into it. Of all his Priests, Alduin had mistrusted Hevnoraak and Morokei the most and it had taken an occasional plot or two in order to keep them at each other's throats and too busy to think about going after his. 'There must be books inside, a library of sorts. And if all else fails, I will speak with him myself.' High Hrothgar was yet a great distance away. If anyone could undo the effects of the wretched Thu'um Freyja had used on him, it would be Hevnoraak. There had been few to rival him in might and none, apart from the Dov, to match him in the knowledge of magic.

As the ancient saying went, it would have been a foolhardy task to approach the dragon in his own den. Alduin's lips twisted in a mirthless smile. Still, even in this form, he was far from powerless and he had the Dragonborn with him. This was a chance he was not going to let slip away.

* * *

><p>Even when he was not speaking he managed to insult me. I felt like one of the resident dogs at the inns, the ones who kept yelping while you ate in the hopes of being thrown a morsel. I would have kicked him, except that there was something in his expression that warned me he would not bear it with the usual tolerance he had shown. Squinting slightly against the sun, I glanced up again. Yes, I had not imagined it, that hardness in his expression; those usually volatile amber eyes had gone as flat as a frozen lake and it was impossible to tell what lay simmering beneath the surface.<p>

My last question echoed in my ears and I fought to quell the rising panic that threatened to surface and choke me. Draugr, there were Draugr inside, myriads of traps in semi-darkness and the feeling of falling as you screamed. I could hear Jenassa, smell her flesh as it burned—

Somehow, I managed to turn what had been fast becoming a retch into a series of coughs. Alduin merely looked quizzically at me while I wiped my streaming eyes. 'You will not do this,' I ordered myself sternly. 'You have been exploring barrows for months now and you have always survived.' But I had always been alone; there had been no one else's survival to worry about, no wrestling with a conscience that damned me in the solitary hours of the night.

As I struggled to stop this morning's breakfast from making its reappearance in the world, the road began sloping downward and there in the distance, we both saw it. Valthume. Like all the rest, the huge carved arches and mysterious burning torches marked it out for the ancient barrow it was. I never stopped wondering how much time and effort had gone into cutting that out from the mountain's face.

All too soon we reached the staircase that led up to the door. Shadowmere snorted softly, nosing the pouch attached to my belt, reminding me that I needed to refill it. "Wait." The word slipped it, sounding far more desperate than I would have liked. "What if I went in to clear the way first?"

My question halted him in mid-step and I fought the urge to retreat as he came to my side. The mask had fallen and his eyes flared with curiosity. "Do you truly believe the tomb to be full of such danger?" he asked softly. "Or perhaps the Dragonborn fears something else."

"You have your secrets and I have mine." The smile on my face didn't reach my eyes and felt brittle at best.

"You know I would refuse such an offer."

I knew, but I had to try anyway. "In that case, you'll need these." Turning to the pack I had attached to Shadowmere's saddle, I pulled out a spare pouch and began stuffing it with various potions. "Ultimate Magicka, Ultimate Healing." My hand hovered over a large bottle the colour of milk. "Prolonged Invisibility, you never know when you might need it…"

"Would you have anything effective against Shock spells?"

For a moment my hands tightened on the neck of the green bottle, so much so that I feared I might shatter it. He would not tell me the truth but preferred to dangle clues in front of me. "In that case, Ultimate Stamina too. Tie that to your sword belt and make sure the knots are secure." Digging into a smaller pocket of the pack, I withdrew a silver necklace studded with a large ruby and two smaller ones. "This is a necklace of Shock Suppression. Put it on."

I knew I sounded unbearably bossy but it was my way of dealing with a situation in which I essentially felt powerless. Oddly enough, he seemed to understand because there were no pointed barbs made. Reaching around his neck, I checked the knots, felt satisfied that the enchanted item would not fall and ignored the feathery brush of his hair against the exposed skin of my fingers. "And one other thing."

The ring had been lying neglected at the bottom of the pack but I had never found it in my heart to sell it away. It had been one of the first enchanted rings I had collected and had stayed on my finger up until recently. The silver looked tarnished but the gleam of the amethyst was anything but dull. "This will help you wield the blade better. Your aim is surer and the blows you deal out will cause more damage."

Alduin examined the ring quickly but the appreciation on his face, especially when he stroked the pad of his thumb over the jewel, told me I was looking at a connoisseur. Briefly I wondered again if my love of gems and gold coin stemmed from a personality trait or my dragon's blood. Was there even a difference between the two? Even if there was, now was certainly not the time to be thinking about it.

"You wear a similar ring as well."

"The enchantment in mine is stronger," I replied absently as I dug further into the bowels of my pack before unearthing two grey and yellow bottles. It took me a moment to recognise that these were merely philters, not elixirs. I was just going to have to be more careful then. Something colourful and bright winked at me from beneath the bottles and for a moment, I could not believe that I had almost forgotten those.

"What manner of jewel is that?" Alduin asked immediately as I withdrew the glittering gems. They shimmered, the colours an enchanting mix of blues, violets and ivory white. Then his eyes narrowed and the hand that had been reaching for them hesitated for a scant second before he took it from me. "It is a soul," he breathed. "How did you—?"

"Conjuration magic." I watched his face carefully, hoping to see some expression of rabid greed, some sign that he was considering devouring the soul in spite of the jewelled walls that kept it from the netherworld. To my disappointment, there was none from the being we all named the World Eater. If anything, he only looked intrigued. "Place this on your blade."

It never failed to fascinate me and I could only imagine the thoughts running through his head as the soul gem blazed with inner fire upon contact with the smoky-sheened metal of his sword. It burned, swelled with light as the jewel faded and all that remained was the soul. A hiss, the kind that red-hot metal makes when it touches water, filled the air while light strafed the sword, curled down into the hilt to touch the nightingale before fading. Then all was silent.

"Soul gems are what keep the enchantments of our blades working. This is why we are able to absorb the life force of our enemies." I handed him an extra soul gem before placing another into my own pouch.

"Can this hold the soul of a Dovah?"

"No. No one can capture our souls that way."

"You tried though."

"Wouldn't you have done the same?"

"That was not an accusation."

The corner of his mouth curled into what seemed to be a smile before it vanished. I could feel the hackles on the back of my neck rising. Alduin enjoyed taunting me and I was foolish enough to be baited. Scowling at him, I turned to Shadowmere and stroked his muzzle. "You wait here for me. I'll come back."

Shadowmere whickered affectionately before looking over at Alduin and snorting loudly. "Unfortunately, he'll be coming back too." That elicited a whinny that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"The two of you are spectacularly unamusing," came the sharp retort.

"Only to you who are in the minority." I breezed past him, the light-hearted moment taking the edge off my fear, for the moment. But as I climbed each step, I could feel the weight in my heart growing. Pebbles skittered down the steps and fell, bouncing on the uneven stone edges until they reached the bottom. The more superstitious side of me insisted it was an ill omen, that we turn back. 'Freyja, you are an idiot,' I scolded myself sternly. 'Pull yourself together. You will live to see the doors of High Hrothgar and you will bring Alduin before the Greybeards, if only to see if the shock of it all squeezes more than the usual 'Dovahkiin' out of the other three.'

We cleared the last step together and before I could place a hand on the door, Alduin stepped in front of me. "Be on your guard, Freyja Dragonborn. Hevnoraak was one of my most powerful Priests and if I am not mistaken, he lives and is waiting inside."

"What?" I exploded. "Now you tell me this! Alduin, wait… Alduin!" I grabbed his arm but he shook me off. Pushing open the doors, he slipped inside. That did it. I had fought Dragon Priests before and the end result was always the same. I would ache right down to the bone, bruised and cut, my armour badly torn up and in need of a blacksmith's touch. In other words, I would be more than half-dead. Krosis at Shearpoint, together with that blasted dragon, had actually come closer to killing me than anyone else, Mercer Frey being the sole exception. Alduin with one of his Dragon Priests might just break Mercer's record.

If Alduin thought he was going to enjoy a reunion with his faithful servant, he was sorely mistaken.

* * *

><p>The vestibule was a tangle of thick, overgrown roots that swarmed over the ground and fairly strangled the stones. They even lined the walls, sprouting strange green leaves. Up ahead was a throne, the dusky light that centred on it indicated the presence of some opening in the ceiling and at the same time, revealed the sickly yellow sheen of the bones that lay upon the discarded seat.<p>

That was as much as he could observe before something rammed into him from the back and he was knocked to the ground.

"Freyja!" Alduin roared even as he felt his arms yanked forcefully behind him, his wrists being twisted together, held in place by iron strong fingers. He tried to jerk to the side but her knee pressed brutally hard into the small of his back, where there was a slight gap in the armour. No matter how he bucked, he could not throw her off, not when she increased the pressure on his spine and arms to the point where they felt like snapping.

With a furious growl, Alduin stopped struggling, let his cheek hit the dusty cold stone floor. Immediately the pressure on his arms and hands eased up, marginally. "When I get my hands on you…"

"It will be outside this damned barrow. What are you thinking? If you miss Hevnoraak that much you can wait until I'm gone before arranging for a rendezvous. Until then, forget it!"

The woman was fiendishly loud when angry and it did not help much since she was practically shouting into his ear. "Freyja you fool, unhand me!"

"I fully intend to, once we get to High Hrothgar. And you are right; I am a fool for thinking I could trust you, even a little."

The bitterness that layered her words pierced the red haze of his anger momentarily. Then, he heard a slight rustling from behind, felt her weight on his back shift and heard the metallic ring of a sword sheath hitting the ground. The woman was going to bind his hands with her sword belt.

"I am not here to summon Hevnoraak to my cause." Alduin twisted desperately as the thick leather began encircling his wrists. "I am here to slay that traitorous worm but not before questioning him about my circumstances! Why else would I instruct you to be on your guard?"

"Indeed, I find myself inclined to agree with him."

Their reactions were instantaneous. Freyja ripped the bonds from his hands, slipping off his back as she dove for her sword. And winded as he was, Alduin found the strength to scramble to his feet, a Shout half-forming on his lips when he realised the owner of the voice was an ethereal being who was backing away, his hands held out as though he were a supplicant.

"Peace, friends. I mean you no harm. I but bring a warning."

"A ghost," Freyja muttered. "Are you trapped here?" Her voice sounded wary, but the gleaming tip of the Daedric blade was gradually being lowered. That action reminded him of just how livid he was with Freyja. She would not trust him but would lower her guard with a strange spectre she had only just encountered.

Alduin had seen souls in Sovngarde before but none that looked like this. Half-formed, its shape so clearly delineated that he could see the horns which adorned the helmet, yet flickering and insubstantial. It was a likely consequence of this unnatural dwelling between two worlds. He wondered if such a being could be pierced with a blade meant for flesh and blood.

"I am bound here of my own will. My name is Valdar and I had meant to tell you to leave. That is, until I heard this warrior speak of slaying Hevnoraak." He turned to Alduin. "You named him traitor."

"That I did, and I will not say more of it." It was disconcerting to see hollowed spaces where the eyes ought to be but he could feel the other's gaze on him. "You have bound yourself here because of him."

"Indeed. Evil stirs in this place. I fear for the very security of the land should it break free." The pale blue form flickered and for an instant, the ghost's face was fleshed out, its tired but noble features laid bare for them to see.

"By evil, you mean Hevnoraak. Does he live?" Alduin demanded.

"This is his tomb." The spectre turned slightly, gesturing to the area behind him. "He has been dead for many generations. I fear, however, that his return may be at hand."

Beside him, Freyja sucked in a deep breath before releasing it in an audible sigh. She was going to help, regardless of whether she liked it or not. She did not have it in her to ignore a situation such as this. Freyja would think of the faceless strangers whose lives would be imperilled. 'Perhaps not so faceless,' he corrected, a brief image of Skuli, Eydis and Leontius flashing through his mind. Valthume was rather close to the inn.

"There must be a way to stop this," Freyja insisted and he heard the unspoken question in her statement.

"I have been holding him here. While he regains strength, however, I have been fading."

How long must he have been here? Alduin could not recall hearing the name Valdar spoken. In fact, by the time he received word that Valthume had fallen, he had been forced to flee his palace grounds. There had been no time to care about Hevnoraak, not when he and the Dov were fighting for survival and the rightful rule of the land. 'And if we had not come to this tomb, his sacrifice would have been for nought. He would have passed on in ignominy with no tale to his name, ultimately defeated by an enemy stronger than himself.' For one moment, he despised the Nord ghost standing before him. And then he remembered being so weak and inept that he had eaten food from the Dragonborn's hand. He could still feel her fingertips on his lips. He had been far weaker than Valdar had even been. Shame flooded in, shame at his past failings, shame for having looked down upon one who had shown more strength.

"…but with the help of a living champion, I might be able to succeed." The note of hope in the ghost's voice was unmistakable. Alduin felt a tendril of grim amusement curl in his chest. When Hevnoraak awakened, he would be faced with the last person in Nirn he would ever expect to see.

"Then I will help you." It was strange to hear the words pass from his lips, and most gratifying to see the way Freyja's eyes rounded with shock. He would have bet all the septims in her pack that her mouth had fallen open as well. "What must be done?"

"You would do this?" Valdar exclaimed eagerly. "Three vessels in the tomb below hold the power to vanquish Hevnoraak. Before anything else, we need those. Bring them to me—but be careful, mortal." It was on the tip of Alduin's tongue to protest that particular address but he managed to swallow the urge to do so. "They are guarded by Hevnoraak's minions."

"Why am I not surprised," Freyja muttered sarcastically, taking the words right out of his mouth.

"They will stop at nothing to see their master return."

"Will Hevnoraak awaken even after we have retrieved the vessels? I must have words with him."

The ghost had been walking towards the throne but upon hearing his question, it turned back. Once more, those hollowed eyes gazed at him intently. "He must, for I will unbind him. Have a care, for it is dangerous to speak with one such as Hevnoraak, who has never uttered truth and enslaved many with lies and terror."

It was mildly disturbing, to see the spectral blue form settle itself over the naked bones of what had once been its body. Even Freyja who had more experience with ghosts gave the throne a wide berth. There were strange things that this world had yet to show him, things he had to learn. He wanted to learn, Alduin realised, gazing up as they emerged from the narrow tunnel. The vast structures had been broken down by assaults and worn with age but the remains were still breathtaking to behold. A cold wind wreathed its way past them, snatched at the cobwebs Freyja dusted from her armour and tossed them gently on the massive mammoth bones that lay partially crushed beside huge fallen blocks of stone. He could only imagine the battle that had taken place here.

When he finally remembered Freyja, she had already walked up to the huge, intricately carved doors, her hand on the massive rung. "Wait," he called out and saw her shoulders slump ever so slightly before she straightened her spine and face him. "We are not finished yet, you and I."

"I'm sorry, I should not have done that."

She was being sincere, he could tell. But they were about to descend into treacherous ground and he need more than that. "Your apologies are insufficient, Dragonborn."

She folded her arms around herself defensively. "What more do you want from me? I won't beg—"

"I would have your trust!" Alduin fairly roared. "If that ghost had been an enemy we would have been caught off-guard and one of us wounded or killed. I will not have you doubting me, not when we face Hevnoraak in his own chambers. You will get us both slain."

* * *

><p>If I could have defended myself, I would have. But he was right. I would get him killed and it would be the second time I led another to their death. Behind closed lids, Jenassa's face rose out of the dark and I snapped my eyes open.<p>

His fury was palpable, even from several feet away. His hands clenched and unclenched, and I could only imagine that he was fantasising about throttling me. "After all that has passed between us, I would think you would believe that until we arrive at High Hrothgar, I am not your foe. If anything, I have more reason to mistrust you. You know that I need you alive because of the Thu'um you trapped me with. Why can you not believe me, even after I saved your life?"

He was…he sounded disappointed. The thought was startling and the realisation that it was true even more so. The answers came fast and furious, though my tongue remained paralysed. Because I was riddled with fears, especially in a place like this. Because I knew deep down inside that he didn't need me, that the reason why he kept himself from hurting me was a lie. Because I had grown into two minds about him, always thought of him as having two faces. Alduin who drank mead like water and spent the night reciting spells was another side of the same septim for Alduin the World Eater who would consume my soul and cast me down into eternal oblivion. It was a dance I was struggling to maintain, to keep him close but not too close, to keep tolerance from becoming familiarity, so that when the time came for me to fight for my life, I would be able to strike without hesitating, without seeing Alduin the man. Trust, I had learnt, was not an easy thing to withdraw and a terrible wound when broken.

When silence prevailed, he sighed deeply, frustration carved into his face as he looked me over. "Have you nothing to say for yourself, Freyja?" he asked quietly.

I tried to think of what Brynjolf would have done in a similar situation but for once, no wise word of advice came to me. I was on my own. Still, my lips felt like they had been sewn together, even when he began walking away.

The sound of metal groaning as he began pushing the door open galvanised me into action. "I'll believe you." It was barely more than a choked whisper.

"It sounds like a weak promise, at best. How may I trust in that?"

At least he was listening, even if he had reverted to his usual insufferable self. "I'll believe you," I repeated, louder this time as I focused on each word, willing it to become truth.

"Swear it."

"As the Star Bearer and a Nightingale, I swear I will trust you until we arrive at High Hrothgar." I had barely finished the oath when I realised my vision seemed smeared, as though someone had wiped clouds of grey across my eyes, leaving me to watch the world through a filmy curtain of gloom.

_Write it in blood, this promise made in the names of my sister and I. _

I knew that voice, as soft and silky as smoke and as hard as steel in her uncompromising demands. It was Nocturnal. As though in a dream, I bent, retrieved the Elven dagger from its hiding place in my boot and raising my palm, pressed the tip into the flesh.

"Blood as a seal for that which has been promised." The words tumbled from my lips, as naturally as water did from a great fall. For a moment the gloom expanded and within the darkness was a strange light. Then it was gone, and I reeled from the sudden weight that was lifted off me. There was fire on my flesh which burnt my blood and seared my wound. Then Alduin was behind me, holding me up, his hand over mine as the warmth of a healing spell suffused me.

When the room stopped spinning, I realised I had dropped the dagger and that Alduin was still casting the spell. "I'm alright," I assured him, finding that my legs had strength in them. "Don't waste your magic." When I managed to find my balance, I pried my fingers from his armour. If not for him, I would have been flat on the floor with a very badly burnt hand. Such was the sometime fate of one who became the plaything of Daedric Princes. And it was one of the better ones too.

"Who were they?"

I stared at him. "You saw them?"

He nodded, mouth drawn into a tight thin line. "You made dealings with Daedra."

"It seemed a good idea at that time." I shrugged as I retrieved my fallen weapon.

He looked as if he wanted to say more but changed his mind when his eyes settled on my hand. His touch was very gentle as he unfurled my fingers, spreading them wide and ran a forefinger over the stark white scar left behind. "They have marked you."

"They have every right."

"I would have their names."

"You share your secrets and I will share mine."

For a moment, he merely stared at me and I thought that I had angered him. Then he smiled. It was not one of those occasional fleeting half-smiles he wore. This one transformed his face, gentled those fierce dragon eyes and softened his proud features. It made me forget to breathe as he looked down at me and I was all too aware of his hand on mine.

"Agreed. But we deal with Hevnoraak first."

"Hevnoraak first. Right." I licked my lips, hoping that Alduin had not realised his smile had caused my brain to turn to mush. "Lead the way."


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Well, the update happened a lot sooner than I expected. But since it is ready, here it is. I promise the showdown with Hevnoraak in the next chapter. All the information in this chapter is based on the books from Skyrim; I guess I wanted to explore and work out these from Alduin's perspective in accordance with the facts as presented by the game lore. So no upset Alduin wondering why his minions are beating up on him, as funny as that would have been...darn it. As always, thank you so very much for all the reviews and for making my day and days! I hope you find this a good read._

**DRAGONREND **

**XIII.**

The place smelled entirely of decay. Rot permeated the chambers, from the burned, ruined books, the mold-covered shelves, the rusty cruelly hooked instruments that littered tables which looked as though they might collapse if he gave them a hard knock with the hilt of his blade. As fascinating as it was to finally enter Hevnoraak's abode and discover exactly what the Priest had been seeking to conceal throughout his long years of service—not to mention the fact that he felt, and justifiably so, smug—Alduin found his thoughts turning to the surface world, to the skies and open spaces above. Eydis' inn had been far smaller than this holding but where there had been a cosy warmth there, here lay a coldness that seemed to close in on a person. The flames from the torches and ornate braziers seemed to shroud the room rather than brighten it.

This must have been a prayer room of sorts, judging by the long benches placed before the altar. There was a withered body that lay on the table, a husk of grey sinews splattered in its own blood. Alduin fought the instinctual urge to wrinkle his nose and grimace, mostly because the Dragonborn beside him showed no reaction, apart from her eyes which darted into every nook and cranny of the room. They had made it past the main chamber without incident and Alduin was hoping the same would be said of the other rooms.

A low growling in the dark informed him otherwise. "Down." Freyja's whisper was barely audible, her hand pulled on his wrist as they both bent low to the ground, partially hidden behind the pews. "To the right. Wait here."

It was his turn to grab hold of her. "What creature is that?"

"Draugr. Nord warriors who served the dragons and dragons priests, and returned from the dead. No one knows why they walk the tombs though some say it is a curse for betraying their kind."

The Dragonborn was trying her best to keep her tone neutral, free of accusation. Alduin supposed he could extend the same courtesy and not point out that the Nord warriors' ultimate downfall was not some mythical curse but their own greed. "They did not serve the Dov," he corrected shortly. "I suppose if they possessed thinking minds, they might have realised that Hevnoraak's promises of immortality are not what he presented them to be."

Freyja looked surprised. "Their souls are trapped here while he remains?"

"Bound to their bodies and bound to his presence. They have no thought of their own. The soul is reduced to mere energy to animate the corpse. One might consider it a fate worse than having that same soul devoured."

"I am sure Hevnoraak would have plenty to say if you allowed him to argue for his own case. And any speech either of you give would be worth less than a defaced septim." And with that, she shook off his hand and slunk away into the darkness.

Amused even as he considered what manner of punishment such audacity warranted, Alduin tried to find her amidst the flickering shadows. It was amazing, how the woman could hide when she did not want to be found. He would have to fight her out in the open, some place that did not offer corners to conceal her form.

He heard it then, the whisper of her blade as she withdrew it from her sheath. There was another growl, deeper and more menacing. A shape moved in the dark and came out into the weak light. It was a moving version of what lay on the sacrificial altar. The creature swivelled its head left and right, searching for the source of a presence it could feel but not pinpoint. Suddenly it stiffened and from its chest emerged the wicked jagged tip of Freyja's blade. For a moment, both figures were bathed in scarlet light even as she thrust the blade further in before yanking it out and with a powerful sweep of her arm, slashed off its head.

The body crumpled to the ground, the clatter that the war axe made shattered whatever remained of the silence. The head rolled away into a corner and before Alduin could emerge from his hiding place, there was a dull pounding that filled the air. Something ripped, broke apart and the lid of a heavy burial casket fell to the ground. A shadow rose, solid and terrible amidst the dust clouds.

The wicked looking horns on the black helmet reminded him of those the Dov possessed. It was an affront, an arrogance that he would not have tolerated had he known of it. This one was different from the other though, taller and larger, girded from head to toe in heavy, dark armour, a bow strapped to its back and a war axe clenched in its undead hands. And it was looking directly at the Dragonborn.

It occurred to Alduin that he could address the monster, could command it to stand down and leave the Dragonborn be. It might have worked if he had appeared in his true form, if the Draugr had actually been a living Nord warrior who could be terrified into obedience. Unfortunately, nothing was ever that easy.

"_Unslaad Krosis_," the Draugr rumbled, its voice a gravelly, disembodied sound that rolled over them in waves as it advanced on her.

"Shadows take you," Freyja snarled, holding her sword before her with both hands in a defensive stance.

Instinct drove him to his feet, to leap over the pews and into the aisle where he charged the dais, heading right for the undead warrior. Strange glowing eyes, illuminated with unholy light, turned to stare at him.

"_YOL TOOR SHUL!"_

For a moment the shadows rolled back as a wave of fire leapt into existence, so bright and strong it was as though the heart of the sun had descended into the room. Like a roaring river it poured over the Draugr, setting dead flesh on fire, smothering and engulfing it. The creature fell back against the table, grappling for balance. Then the last tongues of flame faded and there was nothing left but the smell of smoke, burnt bodies and the crash of his sword against smouldering metal.

Shock was the first emotion he felt, shock that the Draugr had enough life left in it to recover and block his strike. Then he heard it inhale deeply, saw the familiar rising of the chest and the way it drew back its head.

'Surely not…'

"_FUS RO DAH!"_

The unearthly scream almost shattered his ears as the force of the Shout knocked him off his feet and sent him flying through the air. Alduin was still reeling from the knowledge that Hevnoraak's underlings had knowledge and power of the Thu'um when he crashed against metal, felt his fingers slide between the steel grates even as something beneath him shifted and he acknowledged a deep sinking feeling in his chest.

Then he fell down into darkness. Thankfully, it was not a far fall. Nonetheless, it bruised as he had the breath knocked out of him for the second time in less than a minute. From above, he heard the Dragonborn cry out his name. Stifling a groan, he rose slowly to his feet, gingerly tested his limbs and felt sweet relief when he realised nothing was twisted or broken. Picking up his sword from the dirt, he flicked the sand off it, his eyes adjusting swiftly to pick out shapes in the pit he was trapped in. The walls were too high for him to climb out. Shadows rose and fell as he heard flames exploding, guttural growling and absolute silence from the Dragonborn as she fought on. He had to find a way out and destroy that abomination.

There were skulls, human ones. Some skeletons were partially whole, the ribs picked clean of flesh. He nudged a discarded shield out of the way with his boot before pushing open a rusted iron door. That was when he became aware of a strange sound. Something was moving, almost impossibly quickly and there were a myriad of steps, feather light. They were coming this way.

As the spell flowed from his tongue, the air rippled like water as tendrils of light sprang up before him, a shield of blue and white. Though it did not touch him, he felt the impact of the viscous green liquid as it hit the ward, sliding to the ground to hiss and boil on the sand. It was poison. And in the faint light, he saw the source of the poison, beheld it in all its crimson, eight-legged glory as a multitude of dull black eyes gazed back at him. More skittering revealed three more spiders coming back from the back. He had seen these before, just never at such close proximity.

A familiar breathlessness weighed down his lungs, indicating that the Thu'um was beyond his call for the moment. He growled softly, his dragon's blood simmering with rage and relish at the challenge. A rain of poison fell against the ward and the moment it stopped, Alduin dropped the spell. There was a shrill scream as the Nightingale blade flashed out, a sickening crunch as it pierced the hard shell of the spider's skin. Alduin yanked down with all his might and felt the body wriggling beneath his blade give as he split the insect's head in two.

The second spider had its legs severed and found a sword in its mouth as it climbed over the dead body of its kin. Alduin roared as another leapt on him, felt the disgusting brush of coarse hairs pricking the skin of his face and the snap of fangs on his helmet even as long, spindly legs clung to him. Drawing back, he rammed a gauntleted fist into the creature's belly and it loosened its grip, creating enough space for him to slide the blade up and into its soft underside. Again, the same shrill screaming filled his ears as thick wetness splashed his cheek. Shaking the nearly dead spider off, he found the last one midway in its retreat. It shrank back against the wall, hissing and spitting, legs waving in a futile attempt to ward off death in the form of this human.

By the time he was done with it, there was little more than a pile of broken legs and smashed shell that remained. Wiping at his face with his glove, Alduin walked slowly down the tunnel, taking in the gory sight of a victim ensnared in wrappings of sticky white. As he passed each egg, he stabbed down viciously through the protective webbing and more often than not felt a feeble wriggling that quickly stopped as the life left its body.

He was approaching a part of the tunnel with a particularly dense layering of webbing when he saw a familiar pair of gleaming eyes looking at him. Alduin did not even wait for the Draugr to emerge from the webbing. He flew at it, stabbed it so hard that he drove it back, pinning it to the wall before smashing a fist into that mouth even as it tried to form words. He backhanded it again, breaking ancient teeth, turned its mouth into a gaping wound that would never befoul the Dragon Shouts again. The snarl that filled the low, narrow tunnel was his and in a move that perfectly mirrored the Dragonborn, he pulled his sword free and slammed the edge against the Draugr's throat. The head dropped to the floor, knocking over the lamp that sputtered valiantly even as the flame began to die. As the light ebbed, the shadows on his face lengthened, spreading over his brows like great black wings, dipping into the sharp contours of his cheeks like jagged slashes—extensions of those gleaming bared teeth. Obsidian pupils widened, glowed so darkly they seemed to fill the sockets. There was a final faint cough before the fire went out and Alduin was plunged once more into darkness.

* * *

><p>Usually I would have searched the Draugr for treasures; one occasionally found a garnet or diamond. Besides, the bodies, I would have toppled over the great urns to get at the coin resting right at their cavernous bottoms. It did not matter how much or little I found, or the fact that I was financially comfortable. What mattered was the soft rich gleam of gold, the feel of it in my palm and between my fingers.<p>

At the moment though, I had forgotten all of that as I stumbled down the spiral staircase, the remnants of a healing spell leaving a golden trail in the dark. Lifting a hand, I summoned light, tossed it to float in mid-air as it hovered about me, bringing the iron door into visibility. "Thank Talos," I muttered, kneeling down before the lock as I slipped out my knife and lockpicks. My hands were shaking, partly because the Draugr Deathlord had tried to disarm me and although I had resisted the Shout, I paid for it with nerves that ached and fingers that trembled in spite of several healing spells. When Alduin had fallen through the trapdoor, my heart had gone with him and it had taken several deadly strikes from the Deathlord before I realised I had to focus if I hoped to survive, let alone help Alduin.

Two lockpicks broke and I was cursing furiously under my breath while trying with a third when the lock moved, seemingly of its own accord, and I hastily withdrew my tools, jumping back in time as the doors swung open and Alduin came striding out.

"Are you alright?" The question was utterly stupid because he was splattered in thick brown liquid that smelled suspiciously like Frostbite Spider blood. Behind him was utter blackness and I wondered how in Oblivion he had been able to make it out all by himself.

He didn't reply, simply looked me over with a withering glare before thrusting a key at me, which I blindly took before realising it must have been the key to that door. "The creature is dead?"

There was a hiss in his voice that curled its way into those words. He was angry, intensely so. Furious. "Yes—"

"Will there be more of them to come?"

"Most certainly—"

And then he was leaving me behind, climbing the steps with fluid grace that should have been impossible in all that heavy Blades Armour. "Wait!" A sense of déjà vu swept over me as I ran after him. "Tell me what's wrong."

He was halfway through the room in which we had battled the Draugr and as he strode past the fallen body of the Deathlord, the pure poison in his glare was nothing less than alarming. It was the same look he had given me when I had first held him in my arms at the burial mound. Speeding up, I grabbed his arm, stepped back as he swung around to face me, every tense line in his face and body silently screaming aggression.

"Their names are Nocturnal and Azura," I blurted out.

"What?" He might as well have called me a fool again, for all the acidic impatience in his tone. "Dragonborn—"

"Azura is the Daedric Princess of Dusk and Dawn, and she rules over the Moonshadow. I have never seen it myself but I heard that her realm is rich in colour, that the wind is scented with a thousand perfumes but as clear as a mountain breeze. Nocturnal is her sister. She is lord over the night and darkness, the mistress of shadows. As a Nightingale I am bound to her service. And because I carry Azura's Star, she marks me as her champion." I paused, took in a deep breath and in the aftermath of my rushed speech, the silence seemed stark. "Those are my secrets…were secrets…" Still more silence. "Perhaps I might have been somewhat overzealous in swearing upon both of them. One sister might have been sufficient. Talos knows, I'm indebted enough…" I could feel the heat on my face growing as I babbled. Gods, I needed to look up Ogmund and Giraud Gemane when I next had the chance. Whoever heard of a bloody thief being bloody tongue-tied? I ought to retire and just hand the Guild over to Brynjolf who was running the whole enterprise anyway.

"There are others to whom you owe debts?"

A hysterical giggle rose in my throat and I clamped my jaw shut until it passed. "You have no idea."

"You did this because of me."

I folded my arms and looked up at him. Gods, he was tall, especially so when we were standing so closely together. "I did it because I was nothing at that time. I had to find a way—"

"You are Dragonborn. Though your form is lower than that of a Dovah, you carry in those mortal veins the Heart's Blood of Akatosh. It is a legacy that not many may lay claim to, even amongst the Dov."

If I didn't know better, I would have sworn he was paying me a compliment. Evidently, the same thought occurred to him too for he frowned, but only a little. And though he still loomed over me, the tension had drained from him and he didn't seem as inclined to try to take a sword to me, as he had been minutes before.

"Besides, I am the First Born of Akatosh and surely the Wheel of Fate would have sent me a foe worthy of dispatching. What glory would there be for me if I defeated a mere worm?"

On second thoughts, why would I need Ogmund and Gemane when I had Alduin who wielded his tongue like a sword? I could take lessons from him. If I didn't kill him and myself before the schooling was over. I had to confess though that the thought of strangling him was becoming infinitely appealing.

"Why does the Draugr Deathlord offend you so much?"

He lowered his gaze for a moment before turning to look at the doorway that we had yet to cross. Without looking at me, he began speaking. "The Thu'um was never meant for _Jorre_, for mortal kind who served us. The Words are sacred, belonging only to Dragonkind. An age ago, one close to me taught the Thu'um to humans and changed the fate of this land. Now I find he was not the only one. Someone must have taught Hevnoraak who in turn gave the gift to his high ranking servants."

I understood what it was he spoke of. It was Festus Krex pinned to a tree by a hail of arrows. Astrid white as snow whom I reluctantly admired, who looked me in the eye and sent me to a death she had scripted for me. The wet slide of Mercer's dwarven dagger as it slipped in and out of my flesh between my ribs. "You wish to destroy them all?"

"The ones foolish enough to cross our path this day."

"Make that all of them then. But you cannot simply charge up to Draugr Deathlords and breathe fire on them. Even if it is the most impressive Fire Breath I have ever seen."

Trust Alduin to completely ignore my idea of a compliment and focus only on what he perceived to be a criticism. "I did not blindly attack the creature. I would have thought of a better plan, if you had only informed me of the nature of the enemy which you are obviously familiar with."

"Stop blaming me or I'll leave you here by yourself to deal with Hevnoraak."

"Refrain from making empty threats Dragonborn. They do but erode the little credit you already have."

"Why you…!" I glared impotently at him before stalking off, sword gripped tightly in hand.

"No physical form of retaliation? I could have sworn you were going to kick or hit me," he mocked from behind. A good distance behind, I noted.

"Come closer and we'll see about that." But he never did and I never bothered. The goal for the day had changed. Defeating Hevnoraak was no longer the end but the means to an end. Once we sent him permanently to the grave, we would leave this gods forsaken place and I would be reunited with Shadowmere. Why should I do my dirty work when I had an undead horse with four legs to get the job done?


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hey everyone. Firstly, I have to apologise for not delivering Hevnoraak as promised. I was looking forward to writing a big, explosive fight scene and then my Muse kind of went into a coma and I can't revive her. I don't think I've ever rewritten a chapter as much as I have this one and I am still not happy with some parts. That said, I do think this development is necessary; I just wish it could have been better written and delivered. And for some reason, my mind kept replaying M. Kearney's "Ships in the Night" while I struggled with this. I hope this doesn't disappoint..*mutters*.._

**DRAGONREND **

**XIV.**

The barrow was not a place for nostalgia. Still, there were things I remembered, even as I kept an eye on my unlikely companion. Brynjolf's protectiveness that had been both heart-warming and embarrassing as he insisted on entering every entrance first, the anecdotes he shared in the moments of silence when we weren't set upon by Draugr. Mercer's breath-taking skill and speed with the sword and dagger; it was the first time that I had felt envy's true bite. His snide remarks about me being loud for a thief as we sneaked our way through Snow Veil Sanctum. The stretch of Jenassa's bowstring and the way she would thumb the feathered fletching just before she let loose her arrows.

I knew what I would always remember Alduin for: being a pain in the posterior. "We do not stop for spoils, Dragonborn," Alduin hissed sternly as he shouldered me away from the room and the outline of the chest that I could make out in the semi-shadows.

"But there could be septims—"

"That is the same excuse you used and I do not consider three gold coins a sufficient reason for causing further delay."

"It was just bad luck that the other urns were empty!"

"No doubt emptied by other hands as greedy as yours."

"I resent that."

"You may do as you wish, except waste my time with your desire to hoard every dusty septim in this tomb."

I was still thinking of a suitable comeback when we stopped before the iron doors. Alduin was two steps ahead of me but he held back. When I realised that he had been waiting for me to open the doors for him, I almost kicked him into the slimy, iridescent ooze that covered the floor. A well-aimed shove would land him on the nearest pressure plate. Then again, between his thick hide and the Blades Armour, not much damage would be done.

Alduin tilted his head, took in the sight of the urns full of burning embers, which were attached to the ceiling, before sniffing the air in a way that reminded me again of how Shadowmere or wild animals scented the wind for danger. "I am assuming the embers will set fire to this strange substance and burn us alive."

"Only if you step on those," I pointed out the stone slab that rose slightly from the surface, the strange curved markings barely visible beneath the thick sludge.

"Ah, you speak from experience."

"Of course I'm speaking from experience." And then I caught the curl of a mocking smile at the corner of his mouth. "Hey, what are you implying?"

Oh dear. That was like an invitation for him to take his best shot and from the way that mock smile curved into a full-fledged grin which was best described as wicked, I knew he had plenty to say. Before he could though, I turned, stretched out a hand already alight with flames and sent a fiery stream into the room. The explosion rocked the chamber and before I could step back, Alduin grabbed me and shoved me behind him, squashing me against the wall. "Are your senses addled?" he shouted above the roar of the flames and from the bluish glow cast on his face, I knew he was shielding us with a ward spell.

"It's the best way to avoid any accidents," I wheezed, pushing against him and trying to put some space between myself and the ridges of his armour that were digging into my ribs. "I'm quite sure there were Draugr inside waiting for us."

When the flames finally subsided, he stepped forward into the chamber as I followed behind, grateful that I could finally take more than half a breath. Entry into the chamber revealed the charred and smoking bodies of several skeevers and a Draugr. But it was the eerie, glimmering form of the Dragon Priest that was truly arresting. He passed through the wall, cloak streaming behind him on a ghostly wind, the armour plates gilding his silhouette with cruel, sharp edges. Beside me, Alduin tensed and I put a hand out. "Not yet," I murmured softly. "Not until we have those vessels."

"He does not sense me, else he would never turn his back on us." Someone had hewn a crude gap in the wall to serve as a makeshift window and it was through this that both of us watched as the spectre vanished, having moved deeper into the bowels of the cavernous tomb.

His face was once more a mask and I was unable to discern if that fact distressed him. "He'll know soon enough. What I would like to know though, is what he is hiding in this room."

Since the pressure plates had not been stepped upon, the urns still hung from the ceiling and in the light they cast, one could just make out the dark brass and wood handle on the wall. Grasping it, I pulled and felt the chain rattle beneath my hands. A low rumble followed and a fine shower of dust descended as the hidden stone door shuddered, ancient mechanisms groaning to sudden life as it shifted back and sank down into the ground. Naturally, before I stepped over the gap, Alduin was already there, nudging me aside as he made his way forward.

"After you, my lord," I muttered under my breath.

"As is the rightful order of things," came his rejoinder as he moved quickly ahead up the passageway and out of kicking range. It didn't stop me from scooping up a small stone and aiming that at his head. I chuckled as it bounced off his helmet, the sound followed by his soft curse. And then he stopped so abruptly that I almost crashed into his back.

"What's wrong?" We were at the entrance of the hidden chamber. Its ceiling was low and here there was no light to show the way save for a weak beam that funnelled in through a broken gap in the wall. Alduin moved aside for me and immediately I knew what had given him pause. Towards the end of the room lay the vessel, shining sleek silver and grey in the shadows as it stood on a pedestal of sorts. And right next to it was a familiar looking iron casket. "Damnation and Sithis," I muttered. The room was long but narrow, thick roots swarmed the uneven stone ground; it was hardly ideal ground for a battle.

"For once, you have taken the words out of my mouth," Alduin murmured dryly. "I have noted your penchant for fire but with your aiming, the vessel might be harmed in the ensuing explosions."

"Oh ha ha. It might be better to let the Draugr charge us and keep the fight away from Hevnoraak's remains. Just in case you smash the container by accident."

"Have I ever told you that your sense of humour leaves much to be desired?"

"I could say the same thing about yours." My eyes swept the room, moved back down the cramped passage. "I can lure the Draugr over here and drive it down this tunnel. If you are waiting on the other end, we should be able to dispatch it quickly."

"And if you fail?"

I smacked the flat of my blade against the rock wall, wishing it were Alduin's head. The sound sliced through the silence of the room and before it dissipated, a familiar dull thudding of gauntleted fists against sealed iron began. "I'll wager a sapphire that I won't."

The gleam that entered his eye told me that he liked that idea, very much so. "A flawless sapphire." Iron screeched as it tore and as I turned to face the Draugr, from the corner of my eye I saw Alduin melting back into the darkness of the passageway. The Deathlord lurched forward, looked around as though to orient itself and immediately growled when I deliberately shifted, revealing my presence. It bore down on me, curses in Dragon Tongue rolling from its lips. Still, I knew there were worse things to face. Alduin would make life unbearable if I did not succeed and even his good looks would not be able to compensate for the taunting I would have to endure.

I had no choice, really. I had to win this bet.

….

"You owe me a jewel."

The blade sizzled, a flash of bright blue against dull grey and I felt the speed of the blow tug at the edges of my cowl as I ducked beneath it. The Draugr began to pull back as it realised it had overstretched and left itself wide open for a strike, but it was too late. Lunging forward, I plunged the Elven dagger all the way to the hilt in the creature's throat, twisting the blade in as deeply as I could. When the Draugr screamed, I could see the bright gleam of the metal, the burst of flames that lit the creature's mouth from within. It staggered back and all it took was another quick strike to part its head from its shoulders.

Whipping around, I scanned the room for the Frost Atronach. It was lying in an icy pile of broken, malformed limbs, still spewing visible waves of cold. And next to it was a very smug Alduin who was practically preening.

"In fact, you owe me two because this," he nudged it with his boot, his expression a combination of distaste and curiosity, "thing was about to stab you in the back with those icicles it has in place of hands."

"It's a Frost Atronach and I knew that it was coming up from behind, thank you very much."

"It carries the stench of Oblivion. Hevnoraak's servants have…had been consorting with Daedra. And your thanks is about as sincere as your word, Dragonborn."

Resisting the urge to toss my dagger his way and to remind him that I consorted on a regular basis with Daedra—the Princes, no less— I slipped it back into my boot. "Well, you could have waited for a more opportune moment to ask for your sapphire. Or were you trying to help the Deathlord cut my head off?"

"I would have to give you full credit if such a tragedy were to occur."

Now that the battle was over, eerie silence crept back into the dusty cavern. At least it was better than hearing the sound of their heavy breathing and low growls. I let my gaze drift over the still corpses of the Draugr, wondering how many septims the four bodies would carry. Unfortunately, I would never know because Alduin was already walking ahead and I was not going to let him out of my sight. "How typical of you. And this conversation about me owing you anything ended before we crossed that bridge."

"On your say so alone? That is unfair."

"No it isn't. I lured the Draugr into the passage, as I said I would."

"You said you would draw it in and drive it towards me. The latter part never happened."

"I said I would drive it down the tunnel, that's all. Common sense would have told you to wait at the midsection, not at the bloody beginning."

"You are just upset because it tossed you out of the passageway with the Thu'um—"

Bones creaked and instinctively we stopped, slipping into defensive stances before we realised that there was no danger. I had seen living skeletons armed to the teeth chasing after me and there was a distinctive rattle to those undead bones that I could hear even in my dreams. But now it was pity that filled me, for owners of these bones had obviously died in agony, still chained to the walls even after hundreds of years.

Alduin had fallen silent and I watched as he slowly approached the remains. The torches cast yellow light on the walls and made visible the blood that still clung to them, that seeped in so deeply that I could still smell its scent faintly beneath the layers of dust and decay that infected the barrow.

If I had not been watching him closely, I would have missed the almost imperceptible shudder that shook him as we approached the large table. Ahead, huge braziers burned, lighting the way through yet another set of iron doors. But Alduin showed no interest in forging ahead for once. Instead he lingered, gazing at the skeletons, at the one that lay prone on its bed of bloodstained stone.

There were faint cuts on the bones, nicks where the victim must have struggled. The wrist bones were broken and fissures lined the bones of both arms as well. "They held him down," I whispered, nausea surging in my throat as I envisioned the victim thrashing in agony as knives dulled by blood continued to peel back the flesh.

"Most of the blood is gone. Take out the vessel we retrieved and unseal it."

I had a feeling I knew what was inside and the smell confirmed Alduin's suspicions. "It smells a lot… fresher than I thought it would." Quickly I plugged the opening again and tucked the bottle back into my pouch. Thank Talos the mask hid the fact that my face had probably turned green.

"Hevnoraak must have been experimenting with rituals. Valdar said he had found a way to resurrect himself. When I returned, my Priests awakened because I called to them. If I had done so for him, Valdar's seal would have been broken."

"Did you know he was doing this? Is that why you said he betrayed you?"

"I knew he was making human sacrifices."

"And you did not stop him."

* * *

><p>She stood across him from the table and it might as well have been a chasm that stretched between them. He could see the way she moved, gathered herself from him with the miniscule shifts of her body. "No, I did not," he replied and the words were disturbingly heavy on his tongue. For some reason, he could not stop looking at the remnants of the carnage.<p>

This body was different from Valdar's. The bones on the throne lay in peaceful repose, the remains having given up the ghost gladly. This one had had its life torn from it. There were so many cuts, so many parts where metal and bone collided. There was nothing delicate about the cracks and breaks that lined it. And for a moment he could feel flesh thrashing beneath his fingers, the grinding of his bones, agony made tangible and he remembered how the ancient dragon had screamed. He could imagine the cries these cold walls had swallowed, the shallow panting breaths and wild stares when one felt the brutal plunge of mortality in the form of a knife that would not stop.

To be sacrificed like an animal… He turned, gaze sweeping over the other skeletons that were bound to the walls. Spindly fingers lay wilted over bonds that could not be broken; some died with their hands curled in agony. The one nearest to the table had unblemished bones and he wondered how the human had passed. Knowing Hevnoraak, it was not a question of if death had been agonising but rather the degree of agony, and how long it had lasted.

"Why didn't you?"

Because his spies had said it was done in his name, done to honour the Dov. The weak would perish, the strong would ascend. So he had let Hevnoraak rule those he could force beneath his iron fist, so long as the Priest submitted to him.

"Power is truth."

"What does that mean?"

He did not like the way Freyja looked at him, as though he were some strange creature birthed from the grounds around them. As though she did not know him. Or as if she were seeing him for the first time. In another lifetime he had known the answer; now he could not respond.

Resisting the urge to run a hand over his face, or to pull the accursed helmet off his head just so that he could get rid of some of the heaviness weighing him down, Alduin moved back.

"There's no escaping this." Freyja gave a slight, mirthless laugh and it made the fine hairs on his neck stand. "You never forget the works of your hands. This will follow you down, wherever you go."

"That's enough."

"It's the truth," she cut in grimly. "It's truth as I live it and I'm telling you now."

"And what have you done?"

She flinched before squaring her shoulders. She had gone diamond hard, his soft foolish Dragonborn, so tightly coiled but it was not the wildness of the Dovah inside that made her so. "Deeds for the same reason as Hevnoraak." Alduin wondered if Freyja was aware of the way her thumbs rubbed over her clenched fists, as though seeking to remove invisible stains. "Power is truth," she repeated so quietly, as though the words were meant only for her. "It's so temptingly convenient. Seductive in its simplicity."

Suddenly he realised her dagger was in her hand, a fluid streak of gold as she twirled it expertly with her fingers. "If you truly believed that might makes right, you'd let me slit your throat and acknowledge that you deserve to die because you are weaker than I am."

His hand slipped to the hilt of his sword and he wondered how many seconds she would need to leap over the table and close the gap between them.

"But you don't, do you? At least not for the moment. And I don't believe in that, not anymore." She nodded at his half-drawn weapon. "So save your sword for the monsters inside. You and I will have to wait until the Greybeards are done with us."

And she left him there, standing amongst the dead bones with their ghosts that echoed endlessly in his ears and clawed at a part of his soul that had just come alive.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Apparently, the Muse was shamed out of her coma and I hope this is more acceptable. I actually feel relieved; I did not think the Valthume quest would be so difficult to write. Above all, thanks to everyone who reviewed! Especially for chapter fourteen, it really meant something because I was so riddled with doubt. Your comments gave the Muse the kick she needed and convinced me that I had not bitten off more than I could chew. I can't say thank you enough and I really hope this chapter makes up the the last one! :)_

**DRAGONREND **

**XV.**

He is a fool to think that anything will be the same again. The revelation comes in the heat of battle, stark and unforgiving as it blazes through his mind. The last vessel stands in their midst, its gleam like a taunt while he whirls, a deadly dance in fragmented darkness and somewhere out there is the Dragonborn who has drawn one opponent from him. So now he has a slim measure for error, to breathe, to dodge the repeated use of the Thu'um as it shatters the air, blasts the ground and throws dust in his face. Alduin rolls, his enemies close in on him and he has no choice but to unleash a Shout of his own.

Ice forms out of nothingness, the temperature suddenly drops and fingers of frost reach out for the Draugr, pulls them down as the white icicles latch onto black armour and spread like a plague, entombing the one caught directly in the path of the Thu'um, and sends it tumbling to the floor. The second Draugr is slightly more fortunate; it has the use of its limbs but falls back, clawing at the ice sealed over its face. He has a window of time that is starting to close even now. Something sharp cuts into his knee as he scrambles to his feet but he will realise that it is bleeding only later.

Dragonrend taught him to fear mortality through gradual decay, gave him a glimpse of the unknown entity the lesser species termed death. Even then, it had brought him to the ground but it had taken an Elder Scroll to stop him, to delay his victory. And in the darkness of space and the eternity of time that passed, he had forgotten death. Becoming a man has forced him to relearn this, to struggle against the intimate contact of its grasping embrace. He knows without the metal covering his skin, he would have perished even with the Dragonborn guarding his back. These appendages forced on him, poor substitutes to replace dragon skin, claws and teeth, these have become precious because they keep him alive.

Because of this, he cannot be blind, cannot pretend not to know what the fear of dying is. The image of a blood-soaked table comes to mind and when Alduin swings, it is with as much force as he can muster. Steel cleaves ice, strikes through iron and as the white falls from the Draugr's body, its head rolls before his feet even as he snatches the battle-axe from its hand and hurls it at the other one who is still pulling ice from its face.

There is an explosion of power, somewhere out of the line of his vision, and the world turns into shades of grey, his limbs become quicksand as Time bows to Freyja's command and slows all within its reach for her. He watches as the axe spins, whirls through the air in agonising slowness and it seems to Alduin that the only thing that has not obeyed the Dragonborn's call is his frantic heart that beats in his ears. Fire explodes; he can hear the ring of steel on steel and smell blood amidst the burning. Freyja is hurt and her scent calls to him, drowns out all others even as his eyes register the axe burying itself in the Draugr's chest.

Then the stream of Time uncoils itself and he is plunged back into it, like an arrow released from a bow and the Draugr never has a chance really, not with one hand wrapped around the axe biting into it. He strikes, knocking aside the roughly hewn blade before drawing back for a clean stab that lifts the creature off its feet as the Nightingale blade bursts from its back.

His sword is not yet out of the Draugr's now twice dead body when he begins looking around for her. There is a burst of light, a gathered gentle glow that floats on air and he sees Freyja on her knees, rolling over the fallen form of a Deathlord and from beneath that, she retrieves her sword. Her cowl has come loose; he can see pale gold shining in the dark, pale as her transfixed blue eyes and suddenly, he is as aware as she is of the throbbing that fills their surrounds. It is like standing in a living heart.

It is coming from the Wall.

Blood still trickles down her temple but Freyja is blind to everything as she stumbles towards it. She tilts her head and for a moment he thinks he hears the song that bids her approach, a mighty chorus of voices, but it comes and goes before he has a chance to listen. The cavern darkens, the Wall shines and Alduin thinks back to the ancient towers that used to grace the mountains, the tops wreathed in never-ending white flame as a guide to those who were lost in darkness. The Dov loved the stars so much that they planted their likeness on the earth. Sky diamonds, Odahviing had once mused, and how wonderful if one could possess such a treasure. The covetous look on his favoured lieutenant's face had caused Alduin to remark dryly that war would soon follow if one could hold the stars. It was not in a Dragon's nature to sit idly by when another owned a thing of beauty.

He reads the words, carved out in the elegant verse of his native tongue, oldest and strongest of the languages. Her hands are stretched out, supplicant-like, and they skim over the surface of the stone. She is searching and when the Word finds her, it burns, leaps over and into the Dragonborn who arches like one struck by lightning before she draws her arms around herself and quakes at the power that rushes through her form, a storm that has found a soul to nestle in.

Gradually, the light fades, darkness recedes somewhat as it spreads itself back over the cavern and the only sound that is clear is that of Freyja's breathing. She unfolds herself, looks at him with the eyes of one who has just surfaced from a dream. It is a gaze that kindles a primitive response and Alduin hears his own breath, thinks of how pale Freyja's skin will look against the cool grey of the stone, of golden hair tangled in human hands as he pulls back and how deliciously her back will curve, as lovely as the expanse of Nirn when it was first born…

This feeling is newer than the faces of mortality that he has been made to recognise. He does not want to give it a name. To do so will mean to be taken further down a path he has stumbled onto and cannot escape. It must be remnants of power from the Word's awakening, he tells himself as he pulls away and walks towards the vessel. A being can be drunk on victory alone, and he has seen it incite some peculiar frenzies in his Priests after great battles. And now that he is of their flesh, he might suffer the same afflictions of passion as well.

"I've never understood…"

'Neither do I,' Alduin thinks, aware that she is speaking of something else entirely as he plucks the vessel from its stand. It is a small thing, to be holding the blood of a man, even with three such containers. Perhaps it was the blood from the vital organs, the ones most closely connected with the soul and mind, which Hevnoraak took.

"How does one keep the power of a Shout in a wall? And was it Nords or Dragons who wrote those words?"

The Dovah inside her is ancient, and when it rises close to the surface, he can sense it and there is something familiar about it that stubbornly eludes him. It is at times such as these, when her questions remind him of how young she is.

It clears the haze that has descended and reminds him of what, of whom he will be facing shortly. "We taught our servants to write in our Tongue. But such a seal could only have been the doing of a Dovah, for it takes another Dovah to release such knowledge, which is power." He notes her surprise at his words, can see her putting the pieces together.

"More betrayal?" she asks.

"Apparently my house was full of more traitors than I thought." A gate looms ahead of them and he spies the chain that will lift it.

"What did you expect?" she shrugs, and there is no malice or gloating. "You built a kingdom on people committed to power. Not even you could've managed to control so many dedicated to themselves."

They keep their swords drawn but the only things that assail them are small insects drawn to the light of the occasional torch. The quietness is thick and it holds, even as they speak. The path is winding and the steps lead up.

"And who schooled you in the nature of betrayal?"

She had tugged her mask down to wipe away the blood from a formerly split lip and he can see the way she presses her mouth together in a tight line before relaxing again. The memory still hurts, but she won't let it sting for long. "Mercer and Astrid, in that order. I'm a little slow on the uptake when it comes to learning lessons."

"You are still alive, in spite of that."

She lifts her head, and for him it is a moment in which she will live forever, when the blue of her eyes are barren seas of ice, where the skies and water meld together as a unified wasteland of cold. "I took their place," she says shortly and in a sentence tells two stories.

And Alduin approves, for that is a fate he intends to mete out to Hevnoraak.

The path ends where they began, and Valdar is waiting. The skeleton on the throne looked peaceful enough but he wonders how much peace Valdar has actually known in this afterworldly vigil, whether Valdar came to know of the vessels before or after he gave himself up for this cause and whether he would have thought it worthwhile even if they had never crossed his path. These are questions that can be asked, but he thinks he knows the answers. He has seen men like these, who threw themselves like waves upon the rocks when faced with gods that hurled fire and ice from on high. They are still fools. Only now, they are also desperate, and brave.

"You found the vessels!" Valdar is unable to contain his relief and there is a glimpse of a wide smile as his ethereal form flickers. "I worried that I had sent you to your death."

Alduin frowns sceptically, and then smooths it away when Valdar turns slightly and looks at him with those sightless hollows in place of eyes. He cannot see the damned gaze but feels it, feels the other's mild amusement and knows he is transparent before the ghost.

"What are we going to do with these?" Freyja asks as she retrieves the two vessels from her pouch. Alduin takes out the third.

"In life, Hevnoraak drained his own blood from his body."

Suddenly, Freyja is pushing the vessels into his hands and he hears an audible gulp even as she dusts her hands off on her leather armour and pulls her mask back up. She ignores his low chuckle and focuses her attention on Valdar as though her life depends on it.

"His goal was to transfer his power back into himself after death, becoming a powerful lich."

"Well, he can forget about that now," she mutters. When Valdar confirms their suspicions and pronounces the blood in the vessels as Hevnoraak's, she wipes a hand on her armour again and shoots him a furtive glare. He decides that there will be time enough to mock her about it later. And Alduin is very determined that there will be a later. As he ascends the podium and makes Freyja help him empty out the vessels, his heart begins to pound again and he has to steady his hands. If his hopes are realised, he could leave this gods-forsaken barrow a true Dovah once more.

* * *

><p><em>Be ready. <em>

Valdar's voice echoed in my ears as I crouched behind one of the four pillars that surrounded Hevnoraak's casket. Alduin had seated himself on the throne and the sight was more than a little unnerving. He looked exactly as he was, a dark god on a dark throne and I wondered what it must have been like to have stood before him in all his fearful splendour on a bleak mountain top, to see him rise above all the other dragons and be told that this god was to be king and to serve him only. The memory of black wings that clouded the sky and golden eyes that pierced me far deeper than the executioner's axe would have would stay with me to my dying day.

Above, lightning crackled, rising from stone to meet in the air and the smell reminded me of the aftermath of a storm, when the rain still dripped from the forests and everything was so clean, so sharp. An unnatural wind arose, sent tiny stones in the cracks of the ground skittering into the corners and I hastily downed the philter. Any moment now…

There was an explosion of light. The wind howled like Hircine's wolves and the lid of the casket flew off as Hevnoraak erupted from his prison. He floated in the eye of the storm, ragged purple robes streaming like war pennants, his armour gleaming dull golden as it seemed to ripple, the scales so much like a dragon's. In his right hand he carried a dragon staff. Frozen in the shadow of the statue, I breathed slowly, lightly, prayed swiftly to Talos and reminded Nocturnal she needed me alive if she intended to collect more debts. I did not, could not take my eyes off the lich.

"Fools!" he snarled and black light flowered in his hand. The eyes of the dragon staff lit up, suffused with the dark energies of its resurrected wielder. "You will not hold me here any longer, Valdar!"

Ghosts could be slain, that much I knew. And a vengeful lich would not spare the one who had kept him imprisoned. Pride would not allow it. Hevnoraak raised his hand, I readied myself to spring, and Alduin stood. If I had not been braced against the stone and sheltered by it, I would have been knocked off my feet by the roar that issued from his mouth.

It was the voice of a dragon, a true dragon, and it made my blood run cold even as I clapped my free hand over the ear that was not pressed to the statue. If Hevnoraak was the lightning, Alduin was the thunder that would not cease, that shivered the walls that tried to contain his voice and opened fissures in the ceiling. And as I shook, the dragon within sang out in defiant response, thrilling at the sound of his cry.

It might have been comical to note how Hevnoraak had fled behind his casket, if only he was not so close to me now. All I had to do was reach around and I would be able to bury my sword in his back. There was a kind of poetic justice to that, except that the plan called for me to wait until Alduin was done questioning him.

"_Drog Alduin_?"

The switch to Dragon Tongue was immediate and telling, as was the hesitant and puzzled tone of the lich as he lowered his staff. Submission. It wouldn't last though, not from what I knew of traitors and in Hevnoraak's eyes, Alduin would appear weakened. He would try to kill him. I just needed to spot it before Hevnoraak made a move.

They rumbled back and forth in the ancient language and although I could not understand a word of it, there were other things I could read. The lifting of Hevnoraak's chin, the increase in volume, the way he floated round the corner of the casket, no longer needing a barrier between himself and his former lord. The wind that had died down was picking up once again. Alduin's voice, still steady, but more menacing, harder around the edges. A laugh that was not his, an inhuman rasp that dragged its way through my ears and sent a shiver down my spine.

Valdar had collapsed, his head barely visible over the edge of the raised platform but for a moment, his face rippled and I saw his eyes looking at me, full of confusion. Unfortunately, Hevnoraak glanced at him, followed the direction of his gaze and I found myself meeting the eyes of the Dragon Priest. Through the slits in the iron mask, they burned bright and hot.

'Sithis and damnation.'

And then a rain of lightning fell and I pulled myself back against the stone, felt the sharp prick as the edge of a bolt caught my shoulder and my muscles jerked with a will of their own. It was impossible to hear anything over the snapping of the lightning as the hungry tendrils reached for me and drew back, repelled by the ward I cast. The staff was already arcing towards my temple when I turned. It glanced off the ward and the edge struck my forehead, dragon teeth drawing blood and I fell back, desperately trying to hold on to the ward even as lightning poured from the ground in a renewed frenzy. He was driving me to the wall. From behind the billowing robes I could see Alduin closing in directly from behind. Close but still too far. I could remedy that.

A small inner voice screeched that I was being a fool but I didn't care. I would trust to the armour and Nocturnal's enchantments that I would survive. The rippling of the air stilled as my ward faded, the smell of scorched leather was overwhelming and I channelled blossoming pain into a Shout that ripped the breath from my lungs.

Hevnoraak flew across the room, buffeted by an unrelenting force that drove him straight towards Alduin and onto the shining Nightingale blade. From behind that impassive mask an angry scream could be heard and the lich jerked frantically from side to side, like the dartwings impaled by Arcadia's long needles. Alduin had grabbed an armoured shoulder and was clinging onto Hevnoraak, attempting to drag the Priest down to the ground but even as I ran towards them, a wave of lightning arose, bathing both Priest and god in incandescent veins of energy.

Skin split and melted, my blood boiled and the only reason why Alduin and I did not perish on the spot was because of enchanted necklace he wore. "Let him go!" I shouted, stumbling even as the healing spell I uttered worked frantically to heal my broken flesh.

Alduin's response was to cling on tighter as he slid an arm across the lich's neck, teeth white and bared against the blood on his face as he forced the blade in deeper, driving it in to the hilt. Dragons did not release kills, not when they smelled victory. Mirmulnir had been in his death throes and even with the myriad arrows that penetrated his fallen body, he would not release the unfortunate guard he had clamped in his jaws, not even as I hacked away at his throat. By the time I was finished, both of them lay dead at my feet and I had to watch as the Whiterun guards wept while they pried the broken body of their captain from that great mouth.

I drew my dagger, hurled it at the hand that clutched the staff and missed as it struck one of the armoured grooves and fell to the ground. Hevnoraak let out a guttural cry, jabbed a clawed hand at Alduin's face, pulling at his helmet but Alduin simply turned his head, unwilling to relinquish his grip on the Priest. It was a grotesque dance as they pushed and pulled, dragged each other over the ground, knocking the casket askew as they fought for dominance.

Black spots swam before my eyes even as I leaped up the podium steps. There would only be one chance. As Hevnoraak whirled past me, I lashed out, wrapped my fingers around the staff and with every ounce of strength I had, brought my sword down on his arm.

Metal crunched on metal, enchanted armour gave way. I yanked at the staff and tore it away, the Priest's hand still clinging to it. The scream that followed was deafening, visceral almost in its agony and rage even as sweet relief flooded my body as the lightning suddenly faded. As I flung the staff behind me, Alduin shouted and the world turned a hazy grey with streaks of silver. Time became a bubble, encasing every movement, weighing me down and I could only watch as Alduin withdrew his blade and unleashed a flurry of strikes, painting the world with scarlet glows. Streaks of purple cloth littered the air, bobbed gently like the mysterious lights of Blackreach and in their midst floated chinks of Hevnoraak's armour.

The Priest was already sinking to the ground when Time broke free from the Shout and there was little for me to do even as I sliced at his disintegrating form. Ash fell on my boots, stained my sword and then we were both staring at Hevnoraak's remains, at the destroyed armour that rested on a pile of steaming bone meal, the inhuman face of the mask still gazing up at us.

Alduin blinked as light suffused him, the healing spell closing his wounds and mine, and I knew that moments ago, he had been another lifetime away. "We did it." I would have smiled, but I was too weary.

"Indeed you have." Valdar moved to stand beside us, gazing down at his fallen nemesis. Hundreds of years, countless hours, lifetimes of fears and hopes had culminated in this one moment. I looked at Alduin and wondered how I would feel, if I would ever live to experience such a time. "Thank you, heroes. Now I may finally rest."

At least he would make it to Sovngarde, to the House of Valour. There would be no World Eater there to take him from the reward that was so richly his. Alduin was looking at Valdar and I would have given much to know what thoughts were running through his mind.

"Take Hevnoraak's iron mask. It may be of use to you, and serve as some reward for your feat here."

There was a long pause as he looked from Alduin to myself and back again. The ghost had questions. But he apparently decided that he did not need the answers for in the next moment, his form vanished completely, as though he had never been.

"Well, I guess that's our cue to leave," I said lightly, but it drew no response from the silent man next to me. "Are you alright?" I had no idea how he felt but after killing Mercer, Brynjolf had taken me drinking and we had both woken up with killer hangovers. Astrid's betrayal had shaken me far more deeply and I had focused all my energies on revenge. Weeks had passed before the numbness lifted. And obviously, Hevnoraak had not given Alduin the answers he so badly wanted.

To my great surprise, he knelt swiftly and picked up the mask. "Ten of these I had made, and eight I had given out as marks of favour. Perhaps it is more fitting that you take this."

"I'm not one of your Priests," I protested.

"That I know full well, Freyja Dragonborn. But I doubt that I err this time in my selection." Before I could stop him, he pressed it into my hand. "No disease or poison can touch you when you wear this."

A tremor ran through me as I looked up at him. A mark of favour, he called it. It was a gift. Unexpected, and not unwelcomed. I did not know what to make of those realisations.

"I see that I have rendered you speechless with gratitude."

And in that moment, he sent us back to familiar, comfortable ground. I found it easier to look him in the eye. "I have no energy to quarrel with the likes of you," I grumbled, heading for the fallen staff that I knew would be worth its weight in gold.

"Tsk. You are weak, Dragonborn—"

"For the love of Talos, shut up."

"Talos knows I bear him no love…"

It was a very long walk back to the surface. I did not mind it half as much as I should have.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hey everyone! Firstly, I want to thank all of you who left reviews and assured me that I hadn't messed up for chapter 14 and that you enjoyed chapter 15. ^_^ And the Muse thanks all who left cookies to revive her. Seriously, it is such a joy to write this not just because it satisfies my imagination but also because I get to read your comments, which make me think harder, write better and fuel the desire to see this fic through. KalicoOfDoom has been wonderful (THANK YOU!) and drawn sketches that made me laugh because of the Freyja/Alduin and Alduin/Skuli scenes. Do have a look at her drawings on Deviantart. I will always think of Alduin as being played by Tom Hiddleston, but Kalico, you've got the haughty Dragon-man expression absolutely right. I'm touched and delighted that you bothered. Lizabetta, sorry it's taken so long to reply but I had to check up what Rule 34 meant. So far, only you and one other person but you've put some ideas in my head...! As for Freyja's sword, it's the Daedric Sword of Leeching, which rocks. The next update will not be for some time because I am making a big move of sorts and need time to settle in. And I absolutely have to finish work that has been piling up. Until then, I hope this latest chapter suffices and that you enjoy it!  
><em>

**DRAGONREND **

**XVI.**

It had been three days since Valthume and by now Alduin was heartily sick of eating the same thing. He missed Eydis, or rather, he missed her cooking. Even Skuli made a more than decent omelette. Alduin could feel his mouth watering as he recalled watching the child add milk and cheese to the golden froth that had been expertly whipped. "Mother says to lift the eggs and get the air in," Skuli had shared conspiratorially. "That's the secret to making them fluffy." Maybe he had made a mistake while leaving. He ought to have brought either the mother or child along. Knowing them though, he would have to bring both because Eydis was completely devoted to her son and vice versa. Which meant that Leontius would follow as well.

With a scowl of distaste, Alduin pushed the dried leaves and grass in amongst the pile of wood. Leontius could have done this if he had followed them. Yes indeed, he should have brought the trio along. Shadowmere could guard them. Maybe then that undead beast would spend less time at Freyja's side while surreptitiously shooting him death glares if he tried to come within more than two feet of the Dragonborn.

Dusk was rapidly descending and a good fire kept the predators at bay. It also kept them warm because there was a woeful lack of blankets. The dirt ground bothered him in ways that he had never even noticed prior to his transformation. Grass tickled his nose, insects had displayed a preference for warm human bodies that did not move and Blades Armour was horrendous on the bones when slept in. Freyja, however, would not let him shed the protective gear. "An ache, however bad, will not kill you. A sword in the gut will."

"Not if you have been doing your job and keeping watch on your shift."

"I can't be expected to spot an expert archer skulking in the grass under the absolute cover of night," she said reprovingly. "And that means your helmet stays on while you sleep too."

In the end, he turned the thin bedroll into a makeshift pillow to cushion his head and learned to fall asleep in the uncomfortable embrace of hard metal. A stamina potion each morning became a necessity to chase away lingering fatigue and to ease the complaining of his bones. To his great disgust, the Dragonborn slept comfortably in her leather gear. Her only concession was to lower the mask so that she breathed with more ease. And as a result, her mouth was proving to be a constant source of distraction, a rather pleasant one when it was silent and not arguing with him or telling him to be quiet.

He was digging around in the supplies pack, hoping to find something to stir his appetite when the sound of footsteps reached his ears. Reaching for the sword beside him had become as natural as breathing. He relaxed though when he recognised them as Freyja's, and Shadowmere's soft whinny confirmed that he was correct.

"Whatever happened to keeping your helmet on at all times?" Her wet hair clung to her shoulders and back, darkened by the water that still dripped from it. Her face was clean, she smelled much fresher and in her hand was a damp bundle of clothes.

"While you had your bath and were setting up camp," she looked at the wood, snapped her fingers and the grass immediately began smoking as fire licked at it, "I scouted the area. No bandits, no more sabre cats, and plenty of rabbits. It's safe, at least for the next few hours."

"It was beyond you to bring back any rabbits, I assume." He sounded more plaintive than anything else and instead of annoying the Dragonborn, it caused her to bite back a grin as they spread out their wet clothes next to the fire.

"If you want rabbits, do your own hunting. Besides, we have enough food to last us into the following week. There will be hunters along the way and we can buy fresh meat from them, if you still yearn for it that badly."

What he really yearned for was a cooking pot but it felt thoroughly improper to admit that since he was the god of Destruction and as such, ought to have loftier desires. Well, he did, but he was damned in this human form that had been thoroughly spoiled with good cooking and damned again to be travelling with the Dragonborn who obviously thought good cooking was anything a person's stomach could hold down. Eydis' use of spices in her food was subtle and marvellous. She could make a dish sweet yet sour, spicy with just enough salt to bring out the flavour of the meat. Her beef broth was something Alduin dreamed about at night. In the world of the Dragonborn, there was only one ingredient: salt. She had no idea what with the garlic, berry pastes, or various dried herbs that Eydis had supplied them with. Alduin had bought some fish off a traveller and when he had handed it to Freyja and asked her to cook it, she had proceeded to salt the fish so liberally that eating it made his eyes water. And she had somehow managed to burn it as well. If she had not done the same to her portion, he would have sworn it was deliberate.

Freyja also saw a cooking pot as unnecessary additional weight. When Alduin had demanded to know how else they were to cook the carrots and cabbage, she had blithely stuck said carrots onto the wooden skewer and held it over the fire. Vegetables, she had added while Alduin watched in fascinated horror as the carrot began to turn a toasty brown, were best eaten raw. Besides, it was impossible to roast cabbage leaves. She ought to know, because she had tried.

From that day onwards, he had stuck grimly to a diet of cured meat. At least they had variety, if nothing else. But after awhile, it was hard to differentiate between chicken, rabbit and beef because salt was still the primary flavour and Alduin was fast developing a phobia of that particular seasoning.

At least there was still mead. With a small sigh of gratitude, he let the sweet alcohol spread over his tongue before swallowing the mouthful. The drink tasted better when chilled but it was still wonderful, compared to the food. Across from him, Freyja combed out her wet hair with her fingers, drying it by the flames. Gold pooled in her lap, curled at the ends, rested on the curve of her crossed legs. The great curtain of night had fallen and for the moment, both Freyja and the fire gleamed as brightly as earthbound stars.

* * *

><p>I was going to need a new map once I was done at High Hrothgar. As I withdrew the tiny brown square from the secret compartment of my boot, I realised how thin the paper had become, rubbed and worn down from constant usage. Once, I had to take it out in the middle of a snowstorm and for awhile, the wind engaged me in a terrifying game of 'catch the map'. By the time I retrieved it, it had been soaked through but miraculously, the integrity of the ink had held and from that day onwards, I used ink found only in the studies of mages. If they wouldn't loan me the inkwells, I simply helped myself.<p>

Wincing as a finger caught on a knot, I tugged at it while spreading open the map with the other hand, smoothing out dog-ears. We were near the pass between the foot of the mountains where we made camp, and Sunderstone Gorge, which lay a few miles ahead. The plan was to skirt the side of the lake where Bannermist Tower lay and approach the mountain from the direction of Helgen. Riverwood would have been a welcome stop; Lucan and Camilla were always accommodating and I had a soft spot for the very first town I had arrived at in Skyrim. Still, it was best to avoid being seen, especially since I had Alduin in tow. And in spite of the irony, it seemed fitting that both of us pass by Helgen once more.

"So what are you committed to?"

Surprised, I raised my head to look at him. He had leaned back against a tree, one knee drawn up, an arm resting on it while he sipped from a bottle of mead. It was wrong that he made such a simple act far more appealing than it really was.

"You mentioned that I built my kingdom on people committed to themselves and power," he clarified. "I would like to know what drives you to take this path."

Ah, so we were going to talk about Valthume after all, in a manner of speaking. Not once in three days had he mentioned it and I had not been willing to press him either. The burden of betrayal was a person's to shed in whatever way they saw fit. "I didn't have much of a choice, really." I shrugged, folding away the map and stuffing it back in my boot. If I didn't, there was a good chance that my nervous fingers might accidentally shred it. While it was fine that Alduin wanted to talk through what happened, I wasn't so keen on him prying at my innermost secrets. There were secrets and there were secrets, no matter what I had promised him.

"That is not commitment. That is being compelled. I think you should credit me with enough sense to know the difference." The words were sharp and his voice sharper still. Alduin was the only person I knew who had a voice that could be likened to a fine knife. "If you share, Dragonborn, I will make it worth your while."

I stared at him suspiciously and he arched a brow. "You think I will somehow cheat?"

If it crossed my mind, it would certainly have crossed his. "Make sure you don't." There was more bark than bite there but he let it slide. I reached for my pack and withdrew a bottle of wine. Once upon a time, I had shared my secrets with another man. It was the first time all day that I had thought of Brynjolf, and there was more sweet than bitter in that.

I wet my dry mouth, watched as the grass curled in on itself as I fed the fire with more kindling. Shadowmere stood quietly, having placed himself near the largest gap around the loose ring of trees, invisible save for those fiery eyes. "Well, there is the fact that you will destroy the world," I began awkwardly. "And there are people I care about."

He remained silent, waiting for my real reason to make itself known. Bits of cork came away in my hand, scraped to pieces beneath my nails. "If I don't stop you…" My chest swelled with a fullness that pulled tightest over my heart. "I can't go home."

"Your family has forbidden your return until you vanquish me?"

A chuckle escaped my lips, half-hearted and it sounded strange even to my ears. "No, at least I hope my family is nothing like that. The thing is, I don't know where home is. I need to find it and in order for me to do so, I have to stop you." The fire hissed loudly at the remnants of the cork I tossed at it before devouring the scraps.

"You do not remember."

It always felt like a punch to the gut, a yawning gap inside that I imagined the Void felt like. Nothingness that I sifted through all the time in the vain hope of dredging up a piece of me. "You're very clever," I quipped, a flimsy attempt at pretending it did not matter that much, not after these long months of a new lifetime.

"How does that feel?"

Obsidian eyes glittered and I think that even without the fire's light, they would have shone anyway. There was no pity, no compassion, just clinical inquisitiveness on his face and something else which I could not bother to decipher. I preferred his reaction. Expressions of the former emotions only served to make me feel worse. "Like someone's cut off a part of me and thrust me out into the wide world. I feel handicapped."

"It does not seem to have slowed you down."

I wiped the corner of my mouth, felt the wine burn a warm trail down my throat. That would have been kindness, coming from anyone else. "Much to your everlasting regret."

"To my initial regret," he corrected, unwrapping one long finger from around the bottle and pointing it at me. "I have since changed my mind."

That pleased me, more than it should have and I stifled the ridiculous question resting on the tip of my tongue, the one that wanted to know how I managed to accomplish that.

"And what are your first memories of Skyrim?"

Sunlight through the leaves. Lokir's terror once he realised we were travelling with Ulfric under Imperial arrest. Disbelief that my life was over before it had barely begun, that all my experience would be summed up as a one-way trip to the executioner. A name that leaped out at me from the blank page of my mind and which I clung to like a lifeline. A dragon's roar, a dragon's song that I never stopped hearing.

"You." The confession escaped my mouth before I could stop it, slipped out like a thief in the night and hearing it spoken aloud was like a slap in the face. I froze. As did he.

* * *

><p>He remembered Helgen, for how could he ever forget? It was the first light he had witnessed in a long time. And as the darkness peeled back, as he was sent hurtling past its edges in a mad flurry of wings, he glimpsed the white peaks of the Throat of the World and the remembrance of betrayal and defeat reignited the fires that had grown dormant in captivity. His first utterance was a defiant roar, a call to arms. He knew the Dov had been extinguished when none came to his side.<p>

The sky was fair above and the earth a ripe green below. And the little town was so conveniently there, its humble watchtower beckoning to him like a fluttering bird does a hawk. He would tear the world apart and he would begin at that very spot.

There had been a man with the power of the Thu'um, and for an instant, Alduin had thought, had hoped he had stumbled upon the Dragonborn. But he had sensed no dragon soul that answered his challenge and the sight of that human, the sound of the human using a Shout reminded him so much of the ones who had banished him with the Elder Scroll that he had become wild with rage. Stone had to be broken, the mortals crushed beneath his talons while above, the sky became a maelstrom that birthed a rain of fire.

Dragon, they had screamed and entwined with all their horror was also hopelessness and wonder. They would yet bow down to him once more. To be worshipped was his right, and to be feared was an intoxication that no Dovah could resist because it meant dominion.

The details of his foray back into Nirn would be forever etched on his mind. But he could not place where she had been amidst all the chaos he masterminded.

"I was on the chopping block," she said softly. "They were about to cut my head off. Then you came in from above."

It took him a moment to hear what she left unspoken. He had saved her.

The bottle trembled in his grasp and he grew aware of the light shaking of his fingers, of his person. He put the glass down before he could shatter it. For the first time he felt glad of the armour's weight, glad that it was there to hold him down. He thought he might fly apart otherwise. He did not know what to think, what to make of this seeming mockery that had been written into the Aedric Prophecies. She lived because of him, the one person who was to be his undoing…

"Do you regret it?"

Yes. No. The prison of flesh was still a prison but now it had grown bars through which he could see and there was a door somewhere waiting to be opened. He knew what Freyja meant when she described herself as handicapped; it was surviving after being sundered into halves. But where she remembered nothing, he remembered all. Sometimes, it was too much. "Ask me something I can answer."

If anything, he sounded too restrained, as though allowing even one strand of the volatility within him to escape would be unthinkable. She said nothing in response, merely nodded as she slid her hair over the other shoulder. Her head dipped lower and the gold mass fell like a shield between them.

He did not know when he fell asleep, only knew when he awakened. But for the Dragonborn, he would have moved to ease his body into a more comfortable position. She sat with her back to him, looking up with her hands lifted to the stars above that were ringed by the treetops. At first, he could not comprehend what she was doing. Then he saw the way her fingers traced the constellations, how she cupped a palm and pretended to hold the moon. He caught her soft shuddering sigh, thick with tears, sensed and tasted the same longing that pierced her.

She may not recall anything of her life before. But the Dovah inside her yearned for a life that could have been, but for the body it inhabited. Flight was the shadow of a dream for her, as it was for him now. She had made him like her and now they knew each other in ways he could not have foreseen. Wearily, he closed his eyes. Whether this had been part of the prophecy or simply a terrible accident, their fates were now knit together; they were bound for this road, and the end was not one he could see.

* * *

><p>It could have been awkward the next morning. But I had had enough of uncomfortable silences, of near glances and impassive masks when inside, I came apart at the seams. I'd been there, done that and didn't believe in second helpings of this nature. At least he had been honest. That mattered, more than hearing what I wanted to hear. And for even wanting I would take a leaf out of Olava's book of insults and call myself a stupid pup.<p>

After Alduin had taken the second watch, sleep had come eventually, in spite of the thoughts that crowded my head. The one that clamoured loudest was the one which reminded me that he hadn't said 'Yes'. I fell asleep to that.

When I awoke, Alduin had already put out the fire. When he saw that I was conscious, he walked from the campsite, all too eager to head for the stream. I hoped he would not take a long time; I wanted to wash the sleep from my eyes.

…_Ask me something I can answer… _

I folded the words over and over again, running them through the fingers of my mind as I strapped the knapsacks to Shadowmere's saddle before stroking his cool neck. I did not dare make too much of what he had said. "And what would be the point?" I asked softly as Shadowmere flicked his ears forward attentively. "It will still end the same way." If it was not him, it would be me, and at the end of the day, I wanted to live. I wanted to survive so badly because this was not how I wanted to go to the grave, being haunted by a sense of incompletion.

But I understood what he meant. He used to be a goal, an ominous figure, a means to an end, a threat. Should there come a day when he shed his human form and stretched out those great ebony wings to take the world in them, I would still remember him as he was now. Scowling while being told off by Leontius. Snatching for the last sweetroll at Eydis' table. Watching from a distance as he fished with Skuli. His confidence as he grew into the skin I had trapped him in. Warm fingers on my bloodied forehead and the way he caught me before I fell in Valthume. The fact that his favourite colour was midnight blue.

Those memories would serve as a far more effective shield than the tough scales of his dragon hide. I knew him, however much or little, and it was not possible to erase that simply because of the battle that lay ahead. "Because you are a fool," I mumbled. I was a fool not because it would stay my sword; it would just make it that much harder to strike. The knowledge that I would not stop squeezed some of the breath from my lungs.

I was munching on my second apple when he finally reappeared, sans helmet with his black hair damp and slicked back from his face. Golden eyes widened as I threw an apple at him. If he had moved a second later, he would have ended up with a bruised nose and bruised fruit for breakfast.

"Look sharp," I drawled.

I half-expected him to fling the apple back at me. Instead, a look of profound relief flitted over his face before vanishing. So I wasn't the only one who had been fretting.

"You know, usually the warning precedes the action. But in your case, I am hardly surprised you managed to mix up the two."

The second apple caught him square on the eye. His outraged yell frightened the birds from the trees and might have been heard by every bandit lurking within the radius of a mile. It didn't stop me from laughing. After that, I promptly ran for my life and hid behind a waiting Shadowmere.

An hour later and Alduin was still sulking. A healing spell had arrested the appearance of the bruise but nothing short of humiliation on my part or getting his hands on me was going to soothe that hurt ego. And Alduin, if I had learnt anything, had plenty of ego to spare. He had stalked ahead after realising that Shadowmere was far more wily than he was and still disgruntled over the incident at the Old Hroldan stable.

A fairly strong breeze had picked up and it rustled the green firs, teased the butterflies as it shook them from their resting places amidst the fronds and nettles whose names I could not be bothered to remember. Some fluttered past, so close that I could make out the delicate patterns that veined their iridescent wings. Great rocky outcrops jutted from the lush emerald grass, and as slow and difficult as it was to cut through the mountainous region this way, it was not without its rewards.

Unfortunately, and typically, the peace was not meant to last. There was a faint hum on the wind, Shadowmere and Alduin both turned in the same direction and then I heard the sound of loud desperate panting as something came barrelling from around the corner and up a large slope ahead.

Both swords flashed out in the sun when we saw what it was. "Werewolf!" I shouted to Alduin who was already advancing on the beast and giving me heart palpitations as I raced towards him. "Fall back!" In Dustman's Cairn, I had witnessed just how formidable a wolf could be. Those claws could shred steel and iron as easily as paper, and I remembered Farkas tackling a hostile giant and knocking it to the ground as though it weighed no more than a doll.

To my surprise, the wolf paused and raised itself up on its hind legs. Blood stained those huge claws and unnaturally large hands, and there were two arrows protruding from its shoulder. I could smell singed flesh and fur in the air.

"Freyja?"

The use of my name brought me up short. Alduin shot me a swift look but I was too busy scrutinising the wolf. And there it was, the distinctive dusting of silver-grey over the muzzle and at the ear tips that I was looking for. "Sinding," I breathed. The last time I had seen him, he had been a sad and lonely figure at the entrance of Bloated Man's Grotto, lifting a massive hand in farewell as he watched me ride away with Shadowmere.

I moved forward but Alduin pulled me back. "It's safe. He's a friend."

"And unless I am mistaken, they are not," he said grimly and I realised what he had been really looking at. Above on the rocky outcrops that surrounded us appeared the men who had been hunting Sinding. All had arrows nocked to drawn bows. Silver Hand, it had to be them. Sinding snarled defiantly, the fur on his back bristling, making him even larger than he already appeared. He spun, edging back towards us, just in time to avoid a crackling bolt that struck the ground he had been standing on.

"Oh dear Talos, all we need now is a dragon to make it worse," I muttered through my teeth. I knew what was coming. Whipping out my hand, I snagged Shadowmere's reins just as he reared, pawing the air furiously. Undead or not, I was not going to risk losing him.

And when they did show up, the Vigilants' mage robes were torn and bloodied in spite of their healed bodies. "None escape the Vigil!" the Nord woman spat, her hands awash with flame and lightning. Her companion, a ferocious looking Khajiit with startling green eyes whipped his tail back and forth aggressively, one paw wrapped around a steel mace. "Renounce that abomination and we will let you walk away."

"You Stendarr worshippers don't get to decide that," a Silver Hand called down. "We recognise that bloody armour, don't we lads?"

"Aye. Krev the Skinner's murderer does not walk free. You should've known we'd find you, Companion." Several of them spat at the use of the term.

"Companion?" the Khajiit snarled. "Then you will answer for consorting with werewolves. You probably carry the Beast Blood."

"No, I don't. I turned that offer down, not that you zealots care." There were eight archers and two mages. Not terrible odds in terms of numbers. The arrows worried me though and the distance between was far too short, the stony rocks much too steep to sprint up from where we stood. And wards, no matter how strong, could not guard a caster's back.

Alduin's grasp on my arm tightened; I hadn't realised he had not relinquished his hold on me. "Will your horse carry both of us now, Freyja?" he murmured.

"If there is a way out, yes."

"Excellent. How fast can you run, wolf?"

"I can keep pace with the horse."

"What are you going to do?" I demanded.

"_VEN MUL RIIK!_"

Three men dropped from the ledge, stunned by the force of the Shout and I hoped the fall broke their necks. The Khajiit leaped forward, brandishing the mace, only to stumble back howling from three bloody gashes Sinding opened on his chest. Then we were all lost in a heavy mist that had grown supernaturally out of thin air. It was so thick that I could barely make out my hands, and the exposed parts of my face were covered in a wet chill. The shiver that coursed through me had nothing to do with the cold.

Springing up on Shadowmere, I pulled Alduin up behind me. Together with Sinding, we fled into the mist even as the whine of arrows filled the air, leaving angry curses and some very confused people in our wake.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hey everyone, I'm back. I should really have been doing work but the Muse woke up and made me work on this. I'm still settling in but so far, so good. Thank you very much for all your well wishes and being so wonderfully patient! Some of you asked a couple of questions in reviews so here are my replies. OneofShadows: You're right; Krev the Skinner is killed after the Dragonborn accepts the Beast Blood. However, for the purposes of the story, I am trying not to stick too rigidly to the game-play. I want to be as accurate as possible but if I see something that can be done and sensibly explained another way, I will do it. That back-story may come up or if it doesn't, I'll provide the explanation either at the end of the story or in my notes. Felt With Heart: Thank You for that review which gave me a perfect opening to what has been a difficult chapter! I really appreciate it. UnmercyfulDeath: Yup, Freyja has finished both the Dark Brotherhood and Thieves Guild Questlines. When she left Sky Haven Temple, she was at Alduin's Wall in terms of the MQ. As for Blackreach, she could either have gone there before or been sent there on the Return to Your Roots quest. I haven't decided but she definitely does not know about the Elder Scroll being there. Guest Reviewer: Nope, I can't include Dawnguard although it is intriguing, mostly because it's not been released for my console! And I've also got the main plot for this worked out so I want to stick to it unless the Muse zaps me with some inspiration and gives me ideas. _

_I hope this answers all your questions and clarifies things even for those of you who didn't ask. Also, this chapter features Knifepoint Ridge and I must say I took a wee bit of creative license with the lookout post at the entrance. Last but definitely not least, thank you so so much for all your reviews! They were a daily reminder to keep working on this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter too.  
><em>

**DRAGONREND **

**XVII.**

In the end, Alduin had to take the reins for he was the only one who could see through the mist. 'It doesn't just blind,' I thought grimly, shivering as the chill pierced my armour in spite of its enchantments and sank itself deep in my bones. I could not see, I could not smell, I could not hear anything… This was a prison.

Once, Shadowmere had almost run straight into a wall of rock. When he skidded and stumbled so badly that we had almost been thrown, Alduin all but snatched the reins from me. "He will break our necks otherwise, along with his own foolhardy one," he snapped when both Shadowmere and I registered our protest.

"But you don't know how to use these," I shot back. The mist was so thick that I could barely see my hands in front of me but there was no mistaking the angry red flare of Shadowmere's eyes, nor the way his body coiled tautly beneath my legs, all angry and hard muscle ready to buck Alduin off if not for me.

"Then show me." His breath was hot on my cheek as he leaned forward, pressing against me in the saddle. He stopped fighting me for possession of the reins, resting his hands over mine as he laced our fingers together. I hoped he couldn't feel the way my pulse practically tripled as I tapped Shadowmere's side to indicate that we could start again. Travelling became instantly easier; a squeeze on either hand indicated that we had to turn in that direction and Alduin made me slow Shadowmere to a light canter.

Next to us loped Sinding, a silent, hulking shape in the white mist. I wondered if he felt it, the strange lethargy that came together with the cold of the mist. It had grown, like a fine net that gradually tightened until those trapped within could hardly move. I realised I was in trouble when my eyes fluttered shut and my hands loosened on the reins. It was the tightening of his hands over mine that snapped me back to full consciousness.

"What manner of mist is this?" I hissed, turning slightly to glare at him. _Ven Mul Riik_. While my tongue could grasp the words easily enough, the true meaning, the ability to use it eluded me. Rifling through the memories that had become mine did not help either. No dragon had used this before, at least none that I had slain and that in itself was surprising, for they had come after me in droves once the news had spread that the Dovahkiin walked the land.

When he looked down at me, I shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with how he suddenly seemed to loom so large, the way his form outlined mine, the tiredness gnawing at my bones and how fear licked at me…

"Freyja," he said and the world righted itself, stopped its slant into darkness. "This is what happens when I eat."

My gaze slid down to the mouth so close to mine and I recalled the first time I caught Babette feasting. Rose white, the skin of her victim, her skin as she crouched over him, so tiny, so deadly. Rose on white, the blood that stained her chin and cheeks, her eyes shining in her sockets, pulsing with the life that slid down her throat. I wondered what colour souls bled as Alduin devoured them.

And like the other time, it was horror that turned me away even as I pulled my face into a tight mask of inexpression.

"Although it seems to have less of an effect on Daedric creatures, your horse being the exception."

"Shadowmere belongs to the Void, not Oblivion," I corrected automatically. Anything to banish the image of constricting throats and dying groans. Little wonder that this Shout could not be learnt; it was a power intrinsic to the World Eater alone.

"But you feel it, don't you?" His murmur was sinuous in my ear. "In spite of all the powers they have given into you, the enchantments they have woven to bind you to their sides, you feel this."

I wanted to snap back that I was only human. But the web had ensnared me again and I did not know how but those golden eyes glittered and bore down into mine, my mouth desert dry as I caught a flash of white against those drawn lips. And with a triumphant neigh, Shadowmere burst past the boundaries of Alduin's spell and I sucked in a breath that I didn't know I needed. It burned away the frayed edges of reality, brought everything back into focus.

Alduin's hands dropped away from the reins and settled themselves on my waist. And then there was blessed space between us as he shifted back in the saddle while I wondered what in Oblivion had just happened and if I really wanted to know the answer.

Miles later, as soon we were certain that no one was following us, Shadowmere stopped and made it clear in no uncertain terms that it was time for Alduin to get off his back.

"You know, we would cover a great deal more distance per day if not for this creature's wretched stubbornness," Alduin grumbled, sliding gracefully from Shadowmere's broad back to the ground before he swiftly stepped back, placing himself out of range of those dancing hooves.

Tugging on the reins, I brought Shadowmere to a standstill. "I guess it takes one to know one," I smiled sweetly at him before dismounting.

He scowled but I chose to ignore him in favour of the werewolf who was standing a few feet away, watching and listening. Those yellow eyes so easily took on a baleful glare, even when there was no evil intended and I recalled a troubled old man hidden in the depths of Jorrvaskr, whose thoughts had turned more and more to Sovngarde as his days drew to a close. It had been a long time since I had last spoken to Kodlak.

There had been no time to stop and now more blood matted the dark grey fur around his wounds. Sinding quivered and hissed slightly as I put out a hand to the arrows.

"I have to pull them out before I heal you," I explained carefully. A gentle man lay beneath the fur and fangs but Farkas had once explained to me that those with the Beast Blood were always consumed with thoughts of the hunt, with the feelings of a predator. It paid to be cautious, even though we were allies.

"Not like this," he spoke, his voice raspy with pain. "Wait, let me…."

He began to shiver, a growl issuing from the depths of that great mouth. When he went down on all fours and those claws sank into the ground, tearing up clods of earth, I stepped several paces back. It took an effort to stop my hand from closing around the hilt of my sword.

"What is he doing?" Alduin asked tersely as he came up from behind. His blade was already drawn.

I would have replied but at that moment, Sinding howled. The low guttural sound raised all the hair on my arms and neck. And before our eyes, he shrank rapidly. The crack of shifting bones was audible; wispy rings of darkness issued from his form, surrounding him with black halos as he writhed. Then he was still and prone on the grass, and the sun seemed to come out from behind the clouds as the darkness melted away.

"Sinding?"

He stirred, lifting a shaggy head of brown-blond hair that looked impossibly tangled. Dirt streaked his pale skin as he started to rise from the ground.

And that was when Alduin grabbed me and shoved me behind him. "What are you doing?" I hissed, slapping at his hands and trying to push him away.

"That creature—"

"Man," I huffed as I tried unsuccessfully to pry his fingers off my wrist. "…Whose name is Sinding…. let go of me," I demanded hotly. "I have to heal him."

"—has no clothes on," Alduin finished calmly.

My mouth fell open and I belatedly cursed the fact that I had forgotten to draw my mask back up. "And how is that a problem? I've seen you without any clothes on."

"And as you have unfailingly pointed out to me many times before, once was more than enough and twice has scarred you for a lifetime. Surely you do not wish to look upon this…Sinding…" he said so disdainfully that he might as well have called him a creature, "while he is unclothed."

"Well, it's not as though I want to but he can't help the state he is in…"

"But you can," Alduin interjected smoothly as he walked me over to Shadowmere, keeping himself between me and the other man. "There are spare clothes in my pack and you may use those to cover him up. Leave his healing to me."

"Said the frostbite spider to the skeever," I muttered.

"I do not appreciate being compared to that," he said coolly. "Although Sinding," and again, that contemptuous curl of his lip appeared, "is indeed as scrawny as the vermin you mentioned."

There were a few things I wanted to call him. 'Insufferably arrogant' was about as mild as it got. However, he walked away without as much as a backward glance and left me to get the clothes. It was with great pleasure that I pulled out a beautifully embroidered blue shirt and a pair of soft grey breeches that he prized.

Sinding looked none the worse for wear, the last of the healing spell's golden glow fading from his flesh as I approached them. Predictably, Alduin intercepted me before I got too close. He scowled as he realised which clothes I had selected but apparently the thought of me setting eyes on a naked Sinding was, for some reason, worse than letting the man wear his favourite clothes.

"Put these on," he ordered, tossing the clothes on the ground near the former.

"You could afford to be more well-mannered," I scolded.

"And you a little less childishly petty."

"What does that have anything to do with your rudeness?"

"So you admit to being childish and petty."

I was wondering whose hair I wanted to tear out more, his or mine. I had just decided on his when a soft cough drew our attention to the fact that Sinding was dressed and watching us with a somewhat embarrassed look on his face. Fatigue painted prominent smudges beneath his eyes and the lines that stretched from his nose to his mouth seemed more deeply etched than before. He looked so small compared to his Beast form, the shirt and pants hanging loosely from his wrists and ankles although he had folded them as best he could. His feet were bare.

And then we all heard it, the loud growl that issued from his belly. "Not to be... well, rude," he murmured as Alduin smirked and I flushed, "but it has been two days since I've eaten anything."

In the end, Sinding ended up riding Shadowmere, who docilely accepted him upon his back, much to Alduin's chagrin. The dirty looks both horse and man shot each other was vastly amusing. But the look Alduin gave me when I passed Sinding a precious bottle of mead was priceless. By the time we ended up at Knifepoint Ridge, my mood had vastly improved.

* * *

><p>Not even killing the bandits had been sufficient to take the edge off his temper. And the worst part was, he did not understand why such a black mood had seized him so firmly in its grip that he wished Stendarr's zealots would find them, if only to give him an outlet to vent his frustrations. That, and the fact that it would vex the other god beyond belief if he could see Alduin eliminating his followers.<p>

Afternoon was fast fading by the time they disposed of the bodies in the mine, each of the latter picked clean of all coin by Freyja. The bandits had already started a roaring fire, over which hung several hunks of venison that by now had been roasted to perfection. Having a proper dinner was a small consolation however, not when he had to sit there and watch as Freyja sat much too closely to Sinding and conversed in soft tones with the man while they ate. Alduin glared down at the tankard of mead in his hand. It was his fourth and he still felt as sober as ever. According to Leontius, alcohol was supposed to relax a man and if taken in copious amounts, could cause him to fall into a stupor. It was just not fair that none of that was happening to him.

From the snatches of conversation that he tried to ignore, he learnt that Sinding had been hunted for days. He had run miles westward, hoping to lose his pursuers but to no avail. Apparently, the Silver Hand and Vigilants had ambushed him at the grotto and he had escaped with his hide thanks to some angry spriggan matrons and a great deal of luck.

There was a name, the mention of a little girl. And Sinding's eyes shone wet and bright as he looked up to the pale, star-sprinkled evening sky to blink the tears away. Alduin thought there was a sliver of a possibility that he might have felt sorry for the man. If only Freyja had not placed a hand on the latter's shoulder and looked at him with such gentle blue eyes.

If he could have had his way, he would have put Sinding in the cell and locked up the mine as well, just to keep Freyja away from him. Or maybe he ought to lock himself up. 'This is a kind of madness,' he thought morosely. He ought to have told the Dragonborn yes, that he sorely regretted saving her. If he had not done so, he would not be reduced to this prison of delicate flesh, this weak form that was causing him to stew over her proximity to another man simply because he was feeling possessive.

As if the Dragonborn was something to be collected. While the Dov had ruled, there had been vast treasuries filled with priceless gems and weapons, artefacts given as tribute as well as seized as spoils of war. Alduin did not think there was a treasury with doors strong enough to hold Freyja in. And it was foolishness that he had even indulged in such thinking. The Wheel of Fate had turned, had raised her up as his adversary. She was his, but only to kill. The fact that he wished otherwise at times was a sign of corruption. The fact that he desired her was something that did not bear contemplation. It was best forgotten or ignored. That afternoon, seeing her wrapped in his mist had aroused treachery. It was devouring of a different kind that had leapt into his mind, the thought like a burning brand, the heat of which would not be extinguished.

'All will be well when I regain my body,' Alduin reassured himself, draining the tankard. In the meantime, he would simply have to master this human form; he could not afford to lose his way. Forcing himself to his feet, he walked towards the lookout post at the entrance of the settlement. He would leave the Dragonborn alone with the other man. It would mean nothing to him, even though every instinct inside demanded he turn back. And to make sure he was fully fortified and resolved to stay this course, he took a small keg of mead with him as well.

* * *

><p>Alduin's absence did not go unnoticed, or unmentioned, as I had hoped it would.<p>

"He is angry," Sinding commented quietly.

"He is always in a mood," I countered, not liking the silent question that accompanied that statement.

"Who is he? I thought you were the only one of your kind."

"I am the only Dragonborn of this age." The words slipped easily from my tongue as I gave the lie. "Aldin studies with the Greybeards. They agreed to have him assist me on my quest. I'm starting to regret my decision."

Sinding chuckled. "Don't do that on my account. Young men have much to learn about controlling their passions when it comes to women, especially if he has been living in isolation with naught but the company of old men for years."

I looked blankly at Sinding. "What?"

The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled broadly. "Freyja, even without the wolf's senses, it is plain enough for me to see. Aldin is very fond of you. He is angry because he is jealous. And you are not helping either by refusing to look at or speak to him."

"He started it," I mumbled, taking refuge in the sweetroll on my plate as I focused on eating it. "And you must be mistaken. We fight all the time; we're barely civil to each other."

"Desire is not just observed. For those with sharper senses, it can be detected through other means." Sinding lifted his brows as he tapped his nose. "And this is never wrong."

Heat suffused my face and I couldn't bring myself to look at Sinding. I wished he had kept his opinions to himself. It was bad enough to know that I was shallow enough to be attracted to my arch-nemesis on the basis of his looks. It was even worse to know my crush might be reciprocated. Opening up that particular can might result in more than just worms exploding in my face.

"He's confused. He'll get over it once he sorts his thoughts out." When he became a dragon once more, everything would go back to the way it had been. And if it should be that I had permanently robbed him of his true form, his hatred would erase any semblance of friendship that lay between us.

"I would say that first statement applies as much to you."

By now, my face felt as hot as the fire. "I find his looks agreeable, as any female with a good pair of eyes would," I said pointedly. "That is all. And this topic is over."

"If you insist." Sinding shrugged his shoulders but did a poor job of masking his amusement.

"I think the other thing I would like to insist on is you travelling to Jorrvaskr in Whiterun."

His merry mood evaporated. "I told you before, I'm not fit for human society. I can't trust myself, not after that…accident…"

"The Companions are different. Some have the Beast Blood. You must have heard what the Vigilant said. I never told you this because it is a closely guarded secret. But the Silver Hand has always known and if the Vigilants have started working with them, then someone has to warn the Companions. They are good people and valiant warriors. They can help you, provide you with safety—"

"And who will provide the citizens of Whiterun with safety from me if I lose control again?" he snapped, angrily running a hand through his hair.

"You only lost control because Hircine cursed the ring. And if it is a cure you seek," I added, knowing this would tempt him far more than the company he obviously craved, "perhaps Kodlak Whitemane will have some answers."

"The Harbinger?"

"The one and only. I was with them for a short time but Kodlak expressed a desire to cure himself. If anyone knows how to get rid of lycanthropy, it would be him." Sinding remained silent, but the hands that gripped his knees were white around the knuckles. Taking a deep breath, I tried again. "You've tried paying for the child's death by keeping the west road to Whiterun safe from bandits. You can move to another Hold and do the same thing but a road guarded by a werewolf is bound to draw attention and you will be hunted again. Why not pay your penance by serving with the Companions?"

Beyond the campsite, a shrill birdcall pierced the silence. Both Sinding and I tensed; sometimes such calls were used as signals to attack. But the quiet resumed, unbroken, and a quick check at the entrance point showed Alduin sitting at the lookout post. Shadowmere was nowhere to be found but I knew that like any good assassin, he was keeping watch while making sure he remained hidden.

Sinding was staring into the fire when I returned. "You make a good case for travelling to Whiterun, Freyja. I will think about it. But if I do make the journey…"

"It must not be as a werewolf," I cut in firmly. "Shadowmere can take you. He is no ordinary horse; he can run for a full day and night if necessary. And I doubt the Vigilants and Silver Hand will recognise you if you remain as you are now."

"They wouldn't. I've not worn this form since we last met, not until today…"

Impulsively, I reached out and placed a hand over his. "Go to Whiterun. If there is a chance that you could belong there, you cannot pass it up without at least trying."

Within those brown eyes that met mine, I saw an echo of my own hopes and fears, the hunger to find a home, a hunger that I knew so well. "Alright," he said thickly, nodding hard and I knew he was convincing himself as well. "I will bring word to the Companions and ask for their help."

"You will not regret it," I promised, feeling the tension leave my shoulders.

"There's something I don't understand though." He cocked his head to the side and I could have sworn I saw his ears twitch. "You clearly don't intend to follow me to Whiterun, else you would never have offered Shadowmere. Why is that?"

"My road takes me elsewhere. I cannot delay this journey." And that reminded me of the dragon-turned-man who was currently sulking at the lookout post. The same whom Sinding said felt desire for me. 'By Talos, you will not think of that,' I thought grimly. I could almost hear Cicero's mad laugh as the words 'Too late!' danced through my mind.

As always, Sinding knew when I did not want to say too much. "Then we should turn in for the night, since I believe we will go our separate ways on the morrow. Will you fetch your friend from his self-imposed exile?"

"He can come sleep when he's tired of sulking. Good night, Sinding."

"It will be good. It's the first night in seven that I've not been hunted. Rest well."

Long after Sinding retired to a tent, I continued to sit by the fire, occasionally feeding it with kindling. Although I was tired, sleep eluded me. It continued to do so even when I picked a tent and laid myself down on the fur bedroll, trying to forget about the fact that its last owner was now rotting at the bottom of the mine. After what felt like hours of tossing and turning, I surrendered to the inevitable.

When I climbed the stairs to the lookout post, he was still there, seated in the exact same position. Except that now, there were two kegs of beer that crowded the surface of the small table. "I could have sworn you'd taken only one," I said quietly. Even from where I stood, he reeked of mead.

Very slowly, he turned around and glanced at me, his face pale in the moonlight. "Hmm, interesting. Leontius mentioned the tingling and the fact that I might feel warm. He didn't mention I would hallucinate."

"That's because you're not." I resisted the urge to add that he was being an idiot. "How much have you drunk?"

In response, he upended his tankard and pointed at both kegs. "Everything," he drawled, looking as pleased as a cat that had gotten all the cream.

Forget falling into a stupor; I was shocked that he hadn't keeled over and died from over-imbibing.

"Why did you do that?" I sputtered.

"Leontius also did not mention that the drink would affect my vision. Do you know how difficult it is to walk up and down this contraption? And it is ridiculous that a pair of breeches should require that much lacing up. It was rather difficult to manage but I did it anyway."

That was not the answer I wanted and I certainly did not need to know how much more arduous the trip to the privy had become because he was inebriated. However, the idea of Alduin staggering down the platform steps put ice in my veins. "You idiot! You could have fallen over and broken your neck."

"And would you not have been pleased?" His smile remained but it turned so cold that it brought me up short. "All your troubles vanished and you would then be free to do as you wish. Perhaps you might bring Sinding along with you to High Hrothgar."

I certainly did not want to tell him that being dead would make me far from pleased. What I did want to say was that his statement about Sinding made absolutely no sense whatsoever. But since it was futile to argue with a drunk, as Ria, Njada and Athis had proven during their numerous squabbles with Torvar, I held my tongue and decided that silence was the wiser course to take for now.

"You and I will go to High Hrothgar together," I said evenly as I approached him slowly. "Perhaps tonight, it would be wiser for us to go to bed now."

"Is that an invitation, Freyja?" he mocked, shifting in his chair so that he fully faced me. I could have bitten my tongue there and then. Apparently he wasn't the only one whose senses had been dulled but while Alduin could always blame it on the mead, I had nothing to absolve me of my stupidity. "What about Sinding?"

"Well, if you think he'll be lonely, then you can invite him into your bed," I shot back, abandoning my pitiably short-lived resolution to be wise and silent.

"You are a tease," Alduin sighed deeply as he slouched back against the chair.

"Me? I am a…" I clamped my mouth shut when I realised I was squeaking. "Where did you learn to call a woman that?"

"Leontius talks a lot when he drinks," Alduin replied slyly and I made a mental note never to touch alcohol again around him. Then his brow furrowed, his shoulders slumped and he leaned his head back so that he was looking directly up at the sky and I watched the white expanse of his throat move as he swallowed. Something flared in my belly and for a moment I felt like Babette. It shocked me sufficiently so that I tore my gaze from him and folded my arms tightly around myself.

"I wish..." He sounded so haunted that I had to look at him. But Alduin was still gazing up, the stars mirrored in his eyes even as they made the Blades armour gleam dully. It was only then that I realised he had shed his gauntlets and tossed them beside the helmet, all of which lay on the table. Any archer with fairly decent skill could have put an arrow through his skull. I had to get him down from this place and into a tent. Those thoughts faded with his next words. "You have turned my world upside down. You confuse me."

By the Nine, Sinding was right. I stood there, stunned. Alduin did feel…something. As much as I wanted to deny it, I couldn't. Not with all his remarks about Sinding, not with this confession that I knew he would never give if he had been in possession of his senses. This was not something I could deal with now, so I retreated into practicality. "You need to sleep. You're going to regret talking so much in the morning."

He lifted his head to look at me and I stamped down the urge to brush away an errant lock of hair that had fallen across his face.

"Tell me why you saved me."

"I thought I'd already answered your questions yesterday. And you still owe me."

"Yes, I said I would make it worth your while."

'Not like that you didn't,' I thought. His voice had not been half as husky, or as low. It reminded me of black silk, and the sound of it tore a ripple through my body that left me breathless.

"Tell me why you saved me," he repeated.

"Will you listen to me, if I do?"

"Whatever you ask of me, it will be done."

What did it matter? He was so far gone that he would barely recall anything when morning came. And even if he did recall fragments, he would not ask me to confirm anything. Alduin was too proud for that.

"I couldn't kill you. I wanted to, but not like that. Not while you were helpless. That's not how I wanted to save the world. I needed to save it for myself too."

And though the whole of Nirn might curse me for being a selfish fool, I would not regret what I had done. Some things could not be given up, even for the greater good. That much my time with the Dark Brotherhood had taught me. And it had been a bitter road to walk to the finish.

It was only when my hands began to hurt that I realised I had balled them into tight fists. I made myself exhale, forced tensed muscles to relax as I uncurled my fingers, tried to ignore the sensation of having been rubbed raw with that confession. "Now can we go?" I asked evenly.

He held out his hand and I reached for it, sliding an arm around his shoulders as I helped him to his feet. For one moment he wobbled but steadied himself as he leaned his weight on me. "Freyja?"

"Hmm?" My eyes were glued to the ground, all the better to ensure that we didn't fall off the edge of the lookout, or so I told myself. I never saw him move and by the time he caught my chin and forced my head up, it was too late.

"I always keep my promises." Then he whispered, so softly that I could not hear what he said but it had to be a Word. Only Dragon Tongue could have this effect. For all its silence, the Shout thundered through me, and I felt my feet give way even as he caught me and we both sank to the floor.

The world splintered, shapes and objects blurring and flowing together. I blinked, shaking my head in a futile effort to break the spell. When I opened my eyes, the breath all but left my body.

Sunlight filled my eyes but did not blind me. The clouds felt cool against my skin and as I stretched my fingers out to touch them, the wind brushed against my arms, filling my…wings.

I was flying.

* * *

><p>Gratefully, Alduin leaned against the low wall of the outpost. Freyja had gone still in his arms, her eyes closed as she fell deeper into the spell. His head was reeling from the drink and the effort used to exert the Thu'um even as he gathered her closer to him, brushed his cheek against her hair and felt the steady warmth of her breathing on his skin.<p>

Tonight, she would see Nirn through his eyes, live in his memories. She would know the joy of riding the winds, of living in the element her soul had been born for. Even when the day came and wakefulness clipped her wings, night would always return and bring the dream back with it.

He inhaled deeply, tried to slow the spinning as the world seemed to tilt on its axis. It hurt to think too much; his mind felt as though it had been snagged by thick webs. And it was far too easy to simply lie here and hold her. If only for a moment, he would have this dream while he remained awake.

His last thought was that Leontius had not lied after all. There was a sweet oblivion to be found in drink. There had been a warning though, of what came after. If only he could remember what it was…


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hey everyone, I know it's been awhile but here's another chapter. Life is very, very Busy at the moment so I am squeezing in the writing here and there, in bits and pieces so to speak. Still, everything is good and thank you to everyone who asked! To all of you who left a review, you guys are amazing. ^_^ Thank you for your generous comments, the funny things you say which inspire me and kick my Muse's butt into action so that this story isn't ever far from my mind. Do check out Eres 121493's deviantart page. She has made a deliciously wicked Human Alduin prezzie for me which features Tom Hiddleston. *melts* Thank You for that! Some of you asked a couple of questions but I can't say much without giving the plot away. So please sit tight and be patient with me. And as always, I hope you enjoy this chapter._

**DRAGONREND **

**XVIII.**

When I awoke, I could have wept to dream again. It was the body that I felt most acutely, the cramped shape of this suddenly alien form. The delicate lightness, the smoothness of my back as muscles leaped and strained for wings that had never been there and never would be…

The taste of the sky was still in my mouth. I could hear the vast silence filled by nothing but the wind that sang as I held it, captured it beneath my wings as I soared up to a sun that pulsed like a burning heart against the sprawling expanse of blue.

The ghost of this other life would haunt me forever. The dragon inside twisted my chest, chaffed against the chains of mortality and as I opened my mouth to release a shuddering sigh, I could hear the whisper of a mournful roar feathering it, crying for what could have been. Still, I would not give back such a double-edged gift; the joy that came before outweighed the sorrow, contained it the way a vessel held wine that whispered at its rim. It would be enough.

As reality sank in and I came back to the world, the cramps in my neck and shoulders became more acute. Light rimmed the darkness behind my lids, indicating that the sun had risen and I grimaced at the anticipated sting morning would unleash on my fragile eyes. This had never happened when I had been a dragon…

'Stop it, Freyja. Stop.' Logic cooled my fevered thoughts, stemmed a rush of feelings that would have swept me away to the dream I was still tethered to. I was human, mostly. And I had always been thankful for the mortality that bound the will to power which surged as surely as the tides on the sea did. I would not know what I would have been if this had been another body, if I had lived another life. And I had seen enough of myself when the thirst to grow in strength had spiralled out of control. No, I would be glad for this body for in it, I remained.

'Speaking of bodies….' In spite of my internal struggles, through it all, I had been more than aware of the strange position I had woken up in. One arm was squashed against my side, sandwiched between my body and a hard, unyielding surface. But the warmth against my forehead announced that whatever I had fallen asleep on was definitely alive. Was it Shadowmere? I didn't recall my equine assassin being this uncomfortable or warm to the touch. Experimentally, I moved my free hand and felt the hard ridges beneath my fingertips. They felt like grooves on metal armour…

"_Freyja…"_

"_Hmmm?"_

_Pale golden eyes pierced mine. "I always keep my promises."_

Oh dear gods. I went from feeling comfortably warm to feeling as though someone had doused me in oil and set me on fire. My skin prickled from the heat that flushed every cell and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to deny reality as my stomach coiled itself into a knot of tension.

_The world had fallen from beneath my feet and I was clinging to Alduin as though he were my only lifeline…_

I inhaled sharply and instantly regretted it. Now that every part of me was painfully and acutely awake, I realised that the both of us smelled like an unwashed tavern whose every surface had been baptised with stale mead. Oh yes, I remembered everything now.

If Talos were smiling down on me, Alduin would still be too addled to have woken up. 'Nocturnal, you had better be on my side,' I thought with a slight touch of venom. She had proven a fickle mistress at best, as unfaithful as she had been faithful. Cracking open both eyes, I let the light seep in until it no longer hurt. It was of little comfort though, when my predicament made itself fully known.

Alduin had somehow shifted himself into a corner against the low wooden wall of the outpost. Instead of performing the simple kindness of allowing me to sleep on the hard floor, he had chosen to wrap both arms around my waist, plaster me against the hard metal breastplate he wore, and tuck my head beneath his chin. The heel of one boot rested against his thigh while the other was draped over his outstretched legs. Impossibly, my face grew even hotter.

I had picked master locks with less care and precision as I began wiggling slightly to loosen Alduin's arms. He moved, I froze. With a soft grunt, he went back to sleeping and my heart, which had been beating a frantic pace that threatened to put a hole in my chest, slowed down sufficiently for me to start breathing again. Minutes crawled by with agonising slowness before I plucked up the courage to begin again. 'First the right hand,' I talked myself through as I gently circled his wrist with my fingers, unwrapping his arm slowly from around me and placing it by his side. It was trickier removing his left arm; he had somehow hooked his fingers into the grooves of my armour and by the time I had successfully freed myself, I could feel the sweat gathering at the collar around my neck, in spite of the morning's chill.

Since my left arm had gone completely numb, I had to hold onto his shoulder while shifting in his lap so that I could sit upright. And from there, I would jump to my feet and make my great escape. That way, the rest of the world—and most importantly, Alduin—would never know that I had spent the night in his arms because he was too drunk to think straight.

Only, the best-laid plans never always worked out that well. Instead of running away, I found myself sitting and staring at my nemesis while he slept off his overdose of alcohol.

Tanned to a light golden by the sun, his skin seemed flawless against the inky black of his hair that curled softly past his ears and neck. And this time I succumbed, brushing several errant strands from his forehead as I smoothed them back. He had cheekbones sharp and high enough to whet a knife on. The rest of his face was just as sculptured. The man was so much better looking than I was and the unfairness of it all, the unfairness of being entranced by him, made me want to throw myself off a mountainside. The fact that I was sitting here mooning over my nemesis convinced me that I must have already done the same with my brains. I just had to figure out when and where I had lost them. Maybe then I could get them back.

'It's just skin-deep. Alduin isn't the only handsome man in Skyrim,' my inner voice spoke up with more than a tinge of desperation. Farkas and Vilkas had to be the most striking pair of twins I had ever laid eyes on. Well, they were the only twins, as far as my limited memory could recall, but each was attractive in his way. Farkas was like a calm stream; his rough-hewn good looks and easy smile coupled with his great height would make any normal woman swoon. Vilkas was exactly like the wolf that stalked within, lean and dark with an indefinable edge to him. I might have liked either of them, except that my heart had been so full of Brynjolf there hadn't been room for anyone else.

Hesitantly, I lifted my hand to Alduin's face and skimmed the barest tips of my fingers down his cheek. It made my heart and stomach jump in ways that ought to have been physically impossible. I tried to imagine dark red hair flaming against pale skin, the ever-present stubble that shadowed his chin and cheeks. I conjured bright green eyes that always glowed with good humour and kindness when they were focused on me. And once, once they had turned deep emerald, dark as unknown forests in night's embrace when we had come so close only to be burnt by the fire between us.

Instead of the usual lightning jolt to my bones, all I could feel was an echo of what had been.

'You are in so much trouble.' This went beyond looks. I wasn't shallow; I was senseless.

"_You have turned my world upside down."_

The worse part was, those were my words too. "You confuse me," I whispered as I traced the line of his jaw before letting my hand drop away.

"_Ask me something I can answer." _

"_Aldin is very fond of you. He is angry because he is jealous. And you are not helping either…"_

Sinding was right. I wasn't helping. My judgement was being clouded. This was more dangerous than putting my hands into a blazing fire, more difficult than trying to ride the tumult of a storm. This was a god of destruction, the World Eater himself. But a part of me stubbornly chose to see the man that also was, chose to focus on the fact that he could be taught to show kindness to a child, that he cared for me beyond the fact that I was of use to him, however unwillingly. He was fearless and intelligent in a fight, he wasn't mesmerised by the fact that I was the Dragonborn. When I was around him, I did not feel different. And last night's gift was precious beyond words. I had been blind and now I could see…

Bryn used to make me feel like this, like I belonged. When he pulled away he broke more than just my heart. So I had to leave because the Cistern was no longer home and once again, I was set loose on the wind.

'You're making the same mistake. What you want to give is more than he can handle.' Only this time, I couldn't even try to give. It would be madness. "If only..." But the words dried on my lips. He had been made for this and I had been born to stop him. It did not matter how he felt, or how I did. If only my heart would understand what it once knew.

"Freyja?"

I didn't know who was more startled, Sinding or I. His hushed whisper hung in the space between us and when I blinked, I felt something warm and wet slip down my cheek. Frantically, I dashed it away as I rose, forcing my muscles to move with a fluidity that had them screaming in protest.

"I wouldn't have come up but dawn has already broken…"

Of course. He had to make the journey to Whiterun. Sinding's glance slid from me to Alduin.

"Perhaps we should get him into a tent before the sun rises to its full strength? Between the two of us, it should not be that difficult."

He was right, but the last thing I wanted to do was touch Alduin. Sinding had stumbled upon my secret and to conceal it, to hide myself, I wanted to put it as far from me as possible. Mutely, I stepped back to make way, letting Sinding take the lead.

At the bottom of the steps, Shadowmere huffed, whickering as he shook his mane disapprovingly at me. I could always trust him to know exactly what had happened. And now it would be doubly difficult to convince him to take Sinding to Whiterun. 'One down,' I thought as we deposited Alduin as gently as possible onto a bedroll. Thankfully, he remained deeply asleep. 'One more to go.' I turned to face Shadowmere who had closely dogged our every step.

"Shadowmere, I need a favour…"

Seconds later, the serenity of the morning was shattered by an outraged neigh.

* * *

><p>I had never seen a horse sulk, but as sure as the daylight that now shone down on us and the heat that was intensifying the stale scent of mead about me, so much so that Sinding was trying not to make it too obvious that he was trying to take in shallower breaths, Shadowmere was sulking.<p>

"I would have thought better of you," I chided as I adjusted the length of the reins and stirrups to accommodate Sinding. In the end, I had invoked my authority as the Listener to force him to bring Sinding safely to Whiterun. That Alduin was somehow involved (no matter that the latter's involvement was limited to the fact that he happened to be there) was unforgiveable, at least from Shadowmere's perspective. "You are as bad as him."

I thought that might get a response but no, my faithful mount who had lived for hundreds of years and been the companion of legendary assassins continued to refuse to look at me. He stared into the distance, as though a prancing fox and a stag rubbing its antlers against a tree were the most fascinating things in the known world.

"You aren't a horse. You are a worrywart. Or a mother hen." For a moment, one flashing red eye zeroed in on me before Shadowmere chose to continue waging his cold war. "You're an assassin, for Sithis' sake, not the self-appointed guardian of the Listener's virtue."

This time, it was Sinding who snorted. I glared up at him as I gave the stirrups a final check. "In all likelihood, he will gallop all the way there," I warned dryly as I handed him the reins. "Hold on tightly and don't think of getting off unless absolutely necessary."

"Why does he dislike Aldin so much?" Sinding held the reins with an ease that made me feel slightly better about sending him off with an angry undead horse.

"You could say the feeling is mutual. As for how it started, that tale is too long to tell." Actually, it could be surmised in one sentence but I wasn't sure how Sinding would react when told that the would-be destroyer of Nirn was currently sleeping in a tent dozens of feet away.

"And time is something I have little of to spare this day. It is a pity. I never thought I'd see you again." He held out a hand and I clasped it. "And once more you have saved me. We will meet in Whiterun." There was something about the way he cocked his head and a slight lilt in his voice that turned the statement into a half question.

"We will, in due course." I gave him a brief smile before stepping back. I ran a hand over Shadowmere's flank but I had barely touched him when he took off at a swift canter. He never looked back. Sighing, I watched until the two of them disappeared from sight.

A bath. What I really wanted was a nice long soak in a huge hot tub. Unfortunately, I would have to make do with the barrels of spare water that the bandits had stored next to the forge. And to add to my woes, I had to attend to Alduin before I saw to my own comfort.

Squeezing my way into the tent, I knelt beside him. He smelled awful, but somehow managed to seem appealing. "A lost cause, that's what you are," I muttered as I reached for the buckles of his armour. He was going to wake with a raging hangover and the last thing he needed was to be encased in the hard metal of the Blades Armour. "Why is it that I'm forever having to see you in some state of undress?" I complained to an unconscious Alduin. "It's as though I'm cursed. Damn Namira and Mehrunes Dagon. It has to be their doing…"

Even with the armour off, he continued to reek and he was beginning to perspire. By the end of the day he might smell bad enough to stop wild animals in their tracks. And while that might have been useful under other circumstances, there was no point in leaving him to wallow in that degree of filth. I told myself it was a kindness, but really, it was my obsession with being clean that would not leave well alone until I had spruced him up somewhat. The image of Torvar rolling in the ejaculated remains of his stomach as a truly haggard-looking Tilma glared down at him was permanently etched in my mind as a moment of profound horror.

I found a bucket, filled it with water and fetched a spare cloth from my pack. It was only when I was kneeling over him once more that I realised the predicament I now faced. In order to clean him up, I was going to have to remove his clothes. "Oblivion and the Void," I swore, throwing the cloth on the ground.

That settled any lingering doubts I had about the subject. I was most definitely cursed.

* * *

><p>He was dying even as he lay there, completely still with his eyes squeezed shut.<p>

Someone had put a sword through his skull and was vigorously twisting it about in an attempt to excavate the cavity. If he could have mustered the energy, he would have told his attacker to just get it over and done with. Instead, he found his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, and when he swallowed, the dry bitterness caused him to gag. The sword in his skull began stabbing at him with a renewed vengeance and a pitiful sound escaped his lips.

Because his ears had apparently preceded him in death, he did not hear anyone approaching until a blessedly cool wet cloth was placed on his forehead. "I bet you're wishing you had not emptied two kegs of mead." Only one person could sound so irritatingly smug even as she offered him comfort. Freyja. Once again, he lay completely helpless and unmanned before her. It was another reason to wish for death.

When she placed a cup of water to his lips, he made the mistake of sipping from it. His stomach lurched and roiled, his throat seemed to close in on itself and he felt his gorge rise, sourness flooding his mouth as the remnants of last night's dinner forced their way up his gullet…

Suddenly he was rolled onto his side, a strong arm wrapped around his chest as she held him up while he vomited. "It's alright, it's alright," she muttered soothingly even as she gathered his hair back, tucking the strands behind his ears and into his collar. "It's just the body's way of getting rid of the excess mead. You'll feel better once this is over."

He would have loved to snap a rejoinder at her but his heaving stomach, tearing eyes and running nose incapacitated his ability to be witty. There was also the small fact that the pounding in his head had increased and it now felt as though his brains were trying to escape from his head via his eyes.

For what seemed like endless moments, he retched until his throat turned raw. Even when his stomach had nothing left, he continued to heave. And through it all, he was more than aware of how firmly she held him. If not for her, he would have been wallowing in his own mess. That did little to comfort him. He felt simultaneously humiliated yet grateful. He was confused. When his brains returned to their rightful place, he would try to sort his feelings out. If he lived to see the morning. If it was morning. Sithis and damnation, he would just be grateful to open his eyes and find that he still retained his sight. And then he heaved again.

When his body finally stopped trying to empty itself, Alduin let Freyja drag him out of the tent and into another one. Once or twice he heard her grunt and huff as she held him up as much as she could but he was in no position to be of any help as he concentrated on not vomiting again. The world had turned into a blaze of light that was hammering at him through his closed lids. Then there was sweet relief as she pushed him into another tent and he lay down on the thin fur roll and felt the ground, solid beneath his fingers. If he focused on it long enough, the universe slowed its spinning.

A wet cloth was run over his face repeatedly as Freyja cleaned him up while he flitted in between states of consciousness. The dampness seeped into his hair; he could feel her wiping and drying, long fingers combing through the tangled knots. She was saying something in a low and soothing voice but he could hardly concentrate on the words. It sounded comforting though. His ordeal came to an end when he finally fell asleep once more.

* * *

><p>His nose itched. As wakefulness gradually alerted him to that fact, Alduin was relieved to find that the pounding in his head had greatly receded. Cautiously, he shifted and when the universe did not spin wildly, he slowly, very slowly, pushed himself up into a sitting position. For a moment, the pain flared but quickly died back down into a dull ache. Thankfully, his body showed no inclination to fall apart on him. He cleared his throat, regretted it when he felt the rawness and found that he was desperately thirsty. His eyes felt sticky too and he rubbed them, trying to clear away the dullness from heavy lids.<p>

This time, he heard Freyja as she stopped outside the tent and stooped down. "Are you feeling better?"

"I would…" His voice cracked and Alduin swallowed. "Outside."

She knew what he meant and she grasped his arm as he got to his feet and crawled out of the tent. When he stood, she allowed him to lean on her for balance. Alduin's mouth curled at the corners in the ghost of a smile; it was night and although the stars and moons were out in all their full glory, it did little to hurt his eyes. Perhaps somewhere out there, Akatosh had taken pity on his firstborn.

"Not too near the fire," he said huskily, his voice barely more than a rough whisper. Freyja nodded and helped him to one of the benches. He could see the flames from where he sat but as long as he did not stare directly at them, his eyes were fine.

It was his stomach that he started worrying about again when Freyja placed a bowl of steaming soup before him. Then, she spoke the words he had been dreading. "I cooked it." Not death by mead then. He was meant to die from inedible soup.

"Don't look so stricken," she snapped. "I followed Eydis' recipe and I left out anything I wasn't familiar with. There's venison and chicken, and the soup stock came from the bones. I added just a pinch of salt and some garlic cloves. And it's been boiled for hours so the meat can't be too hard. Although I couldn't manage a low fire—"

He picked up the spoon and took a sip. It had the desired effect of shutting her up. To his surprise, he could taste the flavours of the meat. So Freyja could refrain from overusing the salt if she wanted to.

"Well?"

She looked indifferent and her voice held just a hint of boredom, as though she really did not care. Alduin grinned inwardly. The Dragonborn was a nervous bundle of knots and it was his opinion she was waiting for. "It is passable."

"Hmm." But the pleased gleam in those frost blue eyes gave her away until she blinked and it disappeared. "I think I'll have a bowl myself."

It occurred to him to tell her that the meat was not too hard. It was beyond hard. He had chewed through cowhide that had been softer. Surreptitiously, he spat out the morsel that Freyja had managed to transmute into rock. He could tell her. Or he could let her find out by herself. Alduin decided on the latter course of action only to discover that his concern for her feelings was entirely wasted. The Dragonborn had teeth that would do a Dovah proud. It was almost fascinating to watch her stoically chew and swallow the meat at the bottom of her bowl.

When they were finally done and it became clear that he would be able to hold down the meal, she kept the utensils and added more kindling to the fire before returning to the bench. Slouching down, she cushioned her chin on her folded arms, staring dreamily into the fire and occasionally at the stars. He had no idea what the hour was but judging from the absolute stillness around, he gathered it had to be late.

It was then that he noticed Sinding's absence. "Where is he?"

"Sinding or Shadowmere?" Freyja smothered a yawn.

"They are both gone?"

She nodded, brushing back a stray strand of pale gold that had escaped her braid. "To Whiterun. Sinding has gone to warn the Companions and he should find a place amongst them. I gave him a written note just in case Vilkas decides to be difficult."

"Vilkas?"

"One of the Companions. He's never quite forgiven me for giving him a black eye and disarming him, although he managed to take my sword away almost immediately after." Freyja chuckled ruefully. "He's one of the best warriors in Jorrvaskr." Alduin, in spite of the heaviness that lined every muscle in his body, found that he had enough energy to feel mildly jealous. It would have been better if she had shown she detested this Vilkas, whoever he was.

"I am amazed that your horse could be parted from you."

She sighed heavily and a frown creased her forehead. "He wasn't willing to go, but there was no other way. In his human form and astride Shadowmere, Sinding has a much higher chance of evading the Vigilants and the Silver Hand. I forced Shadowmere to take him."

Alduin would have loved to see that. Hearing about the devil horse's unhappiness was a satisfactory substitute though.

"And what about us? Are we to wait until he returns?" Time was of the essence and though his mist had been enough to secure a getaway, the men who accosted them might be prowling around the general vicinity. And if they were, it was a matter of time before the campsite drew them like a beacon. Remembering the Silver Hand with their bows drawn and trained on Freyja and himself was sufficient to raise his hackles.

"No. We leave tomorrow. We need to travel to Falkreath though. We're almost out of Stamina potions." Alduin ignored the pointed look she sent him. He had realised that she had removed his armour and since he did not smell, he assumed she had changed his clothes as well. Knowing how uptight Freyja was about such things made some of the pain worth suffering. It was just a pity that he had slept through it all. "And I need to purchase more soul gems for our swords."

"This is a town?"

"Aye. The same one where I first met Sinding."

He almost scowled.

"Shadowmere should be able to meet us along the way. He knows the path I've mapped out and finding us will not be a problem for him."

Undoubtedly the beast would be carrying out his duties with all due haste, if only to prevent them from being alone together for too many days. Freyja yawned again and he realised that she was tired, probably from cleaning up after him the whole day. "Would you like to go to bed now?"

She went perfectly still and her eyes widened ever so slightly. And then in the distant glow of the firelight, he saw it. Her face had turned red. The Dragonborn was blushing.

Weary as he was, Alduin could not resist the opportunity she had presented him with. "I did not mean together."

She sat up so quickly that if he had blinked, he would have missed it. "Of course I knew you meant that," she blustered. "And no, I will keep watch for tonight. You need the rest more."

He would have continued teasing her, except that he had the strangest feeling that this moment had somehow happened before.

_"Perhaps tonight, it would be wiser for us to go to bed now."_

_"Is that an invitation, Freyja?" _

"_You are a tease…" _

The recollection was fragmented but it was enough to still his tongue. What exactly had happened and why had he called her a tease? Leontius had had a very interesting explanation as to what warranted calling a woman that and Alduin was very sure that Freyja had never, and would never engage in such behaviour where he was concerned.

She stood up abruptly and made a show of dusting off her armour. "I'm going to scout around and make sure the campsite is secure. You should turn in now. We have a long day ahead tomorrow." Before he could say anything, she turned and strode off into the shadows.

Whatever had happened, she was certainly going to be the last person to tell him about it. In essence, Freyja was running away and all that did was pique his curiosity. Thoughtfully, Alduin made his way back to his tent, trying to put together the bits and pieces that were starting to trickle back into remembrance. As long as he had held his peace about the tangled feelings she made him feel—

_He tried to fill his eyes with the sight of the stars but even they could not distract him from her presence. Every nerve was drawn towards her, the woman with a dragon's heart who saw fit to crush his beneath her booted feet. And still he had watched her withhold her gaze from him, her smile. She gave them all instead to the wolf-man. So why had she sought him out? She was always there yet elusively out of reach._

"_I wish…" He missed being free. He used to know himself. _

"_You have turned my world upside down. You confuse me." _

It was a good thing that he was already lying down. Alduin felt the blood rush to his face and he let out a quiet gasp. He had been wrong about Akatosh. Somewhere out there, the god who had bred him was laughing at him, as were the other Eight, in all probability. The groan that escaped his lips had nothing to do with the ache in his head. For the first time in his long life, Alduin wished and prayed for the earth to open up and swallow him along with his humiliation.

Predictably, his pleas were ignored and he was left to spend the night tossing and turning, wondering how he was going to face the Dragonborn in the morning.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hey everyone, here's another new chapter. A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed and some of you left wonderfully long reviews which gave me plenty to think about! I am toying with some post epilogue options now. I thoroughly enjoyed hearing from you guys and some of you have been asking when is anything going to happen between Alduin and Freyja (?!). I am happy to say, soon enough. It's the transitioning that I want to be careful about and I hope I managed to accomplish that here. Life has been very busy but you guys have kept me going. We're halfway there to the end, more or less. I hope you enjoy this and stay with me for the rest of the ride! _

**DRAGONREND **

**XIX.**

That morning, I was awake even before I opened my eyes. Outside, all was quiet and even within the confines of the tent, the air felt cool and still. Inside though, my heart had picked up speed because the first thing that came to mind was Alduin's face, fine and pale as moonbeams, and wicked dark humour that brightened even eyes rendered dull by a vicious hangover.

"_Would you like to go to bed now?"_

It did not matter that I was lying down; I could feel my knees weaken. Lovely, just wonderful. I spent months doing everything I could in my power to grow stronger just so that I could face him and have a decent chance of surviving the encounter. Now, apparently all it took was a teasing remark to undo me. "Well done, Dragonborn," I muttered.

That was when I heard the faint sound of splashing water. Alduin was awake. And my heart came pounding back to life with a vengeance. I cursed it, myself and Sinding for opening his mouth and by extension, a door that I could not shut, not even after wearing myself out with two scouting rounds the night before. I would have cursed the mead-swilling bandits for leaving behind a camp littered with full kegs but I had already done my worst, so there was little point in spending my breath on corpses. Besides, the splashing had stopped and unless I intended to waste the morning away hiding in my tent, I would have to get up, steel myself and pretend that everything was completely normal. I'd faced the Night Mother in all her bloodcurdling glory and managed not to cringe. 'If only Alduin looked half as bad,' I sighed wistfully to myself. Perhaps then I would not be having this problem because my superficial penchant for good looks would have remained blessedly dormant.

Still, not all was lost. Alduin had been so badly hungover the night before that there was little chance that he would recall anything he had said and done while in the throes of his drunken stupor. Torvar had huge gaps in his memory after his daily drinking marathons and the only person who bothered reminding him about what happened was poor Tilma whose sense of duty and honour compelled her to clean up after him.

Yes, not all was lost. As long as I pretended nothing had happened and if he asked, I would lie through my teeth and smile while I was at it. I was an accomplished pretender; perhaps I would fool myself while I was at it…

Three quarters of a day and barely five sentences later, I realised that my well-laid plans might as well pack up and take a trip to Oblivion. Well ahead of me, Alduin marched resolutely and any attempts to walk together with him had been silently rebuffed by the quickening of his pace. To say that he did not want to look at or speak to me was an understatement. Anything I had to say had been met with a monosyllabic reply or a silent nod, and a sudden urge on his part to walk away.

Sithis and damnation, he remembered. Apparently, being a god, even one whose status had been temporarily reduced, still had its advantages. And now I was stuck in yet another awkward situation with a man who could not wait to get away from me.

'At least this time I was not the one who opened my mouth and inserted my boot into it.' Still, there was little to be smug about, especially since I could well empathise with Alduin. Granted, this situation was not exactly the same as the one I had been mired in with Brynjolf, but I could understand the feeling of increasing vulnerability and the awful gnawing fear of having put some of your heart out there only for the other person to reject it. 'Not that Alduin offered you anything or that you want it,' I reminded myself.

So far, I had left him to the comfort of the cold silence that lay between us. I realised I much preferred Alduin's teasing, even his taunts. Anything was better than this. Yet something inside me quailed at taking the issue by the horns and thrashing it out. 'Because the last time you tried that, things worked out so well…' And Alduin was no Brynjolf. At least my second-in-command had retained some degree of gentleness even though he had practically simmered with frustration during the confrontation. Alduin was more likely to toss me over a cliff if he could.

I was still mulling over the wisdom of either course of action when a sudden chill in the wind drew notice to the impending storm. A quick glance at the sky revealed it was rapidly turning a rare shade of angry purple. Swollen greyish black clouds swarmed overhead, looking more than ready to unleash their load upon the exposed land below.

It was not possible to find a more fitting expression of the mood that hung over us. There was a sharp crack, so loud that it sounded as though something in the firmament above had shifted. Then the rain came down like a lash. I actually gasped as the wind spitefully hurled what felt like a fistful of liquid needles in my face. The cowl helped to some degree but my eyes stung and I had to turn away to blink.

"There _is_ something in my eye," I muttered crossly, rubbing ineffectually at it, trying to get rid of the abrasive sensation of the grit against sensitive flesh. Several long seconds and one badly tearing eye later, I finally removed the offending sliver and flicked it to the ground. By then, the wind was rattling the trees, bending some of them with the force of its gusts, swirling my cloak wildly even as I pulled it tightly around my body, bunching the thick edges together in my fist. Brushing the wetness from my face, I turned around and beneath the mask, my mouth dropped open again.

There was nothing but heavy curtains of steel grey rain. Alduin was gone.

* * *

><p>Behind him trudged the Dragonborn and try as he might, Alduin was unable to fully banish the remembrance of her face when she tried to catch up with him for the final time. That had been hours ago and he could still see the downward curve of her mouth, the confused expression that melted into anger before her face swiftly closed into a stiff unreadable mask as she slowed down and fell a good distance behind. He could barely hear her footsteps now, but pride would not permit him to turn around. Freyja was more than capable of looking after herself. Surely she could be trusted to follow after him, or speak up if he took a wrong turn. 'And that is most unlikely,' Alduin thought tartly as he stomped on several bright pink flowers that had the bad luck of lying in his path. He had been unable to look at her and so had kept his eyes fixed on the map as though his life depended on the success of memorising the path to Falkreath.<p>

The air smelled like rain and above, the sky was bruised. In a short while, he would be utterly wet and soaked through while the Dragonborn would probably remain mostly snug and warm in her fitting leather armour. The utter unfairness of it all did little to lighten the black mood that had seized him firmly and held him in the palm of its hand ever since dawn broke, waking him from the restless sleep he had fallen into.

If he could have, Alduin would have throttled the memory of his drunken confession and buried it in the bowels of Nirn. The only thing he wanted to throttle more was Leontius. Damn the man for not fully warning him about the risks of overindulging. The physical agony was one thing. The fact that he had opened his mouth and… His jaw ached and Alduin had to make an effort to stop clenching his teeth together.

Thunder cracked like a whip overhead, so loud that for a moment, one could imagine a rift had opened in the sky above. Lowering his head grimly, Alduin heard the rain crash down upon his helmet scant seconds before he felt its touch on his skin. It was icy, especially with the wind howling like a gigantic… "Wolf," he finished grimly and hoped that somewhere out there, Shadowmere was venting its nasty temper on the individual that started it all.

If they had not run into Sinding, he would not have been possessed by the most absurd jealousy and thus would never have felt the urge to numb his emotions with mead. Which meant that he would have kept his mouth firmly shut and his secrets where they belonged…

In spite of himself, Alduin let out an angry sigh. He could leave the Dragonborn behind but he could not take back the words he had let slip. The memory haunted him, was a taunt he could not ignore. Freyja's silence on the subject had not helped; clearly she had intended for him to forget it. And as much as he wanted to feel nothing, Alduin found himself struggling with yet another new and unwanted emotion: rejection. She did not want him. Once upon a time, that would have been an impossibility. He was Alduin, timeless god of destruction, firstborn to whom the worlds had been given. No female in possession of her senses had refused him; no female ever had.

'Naturally, she would.' It mollified his temper slightly when he considered who Freyja was. After all, she had been born to destroy him; he could hardly expect her to lust after him. So it was nothing to do with him and everything to do with her. That would have been a saving grace to cling to, except that he had taken leave of his senses and now desired her with a force that was taking considerable effort to squash.

Wallowing in self-pity and the unfairness of his fate, Alduin only looked up when light erupted directly above, half-blinding him. Instinctively, even as he squeezed his eyes shut against the white glare, he threw up his hand and conjured a ward. There was a distinctive sizzle in the air and lightning pushed against the magical shield that protected him. Forcing his eyes open, Alduin blinked against the bright, floating spots that marred his vision. Deafened by the thunder that followed, he did not hear the groan of charred wood as it splintered but he could make out the tall tree as it swayed precariously for one moment before it gathered momentum and, helped on by the wind, began falling to one side.

It was going to land directly on him. His first instinct was to look behind and shout a warning to Freyja. Common sense kicked in and he leapt, clearing the fir by inches. The ground was already a sodden mix of mud and drowned grass, and as Alduin struggled to his feet, he looked around for Freyja, blinking furiously against the spots and the rain.

He could not see her. The Dragonborn was nowhere to be found. Panic sparked in his chest but he smothered it. At least she was not buried beneath the tree. The driving rain was effectively blinding him but he had other means at his disposal for overcoming a bit of inclement weather.

"_Laas Yah Nir_."

It was but a whisper, easily drowned by the storm. At that moment, Alduin felt the tendrils of magic that flowed from his being, felt them arc over the land, saw in his mind's eye the creatures that hid beneath the ground and in the depths of the trees from the storm. The faint pulse of their life force touched his and he knew exactly where they were.

So it was with a kind of horror that Alduin realised that some distance behind, two humans were grappling on the ground while a third stood nearby. One of them had to be Freyja. Nothing in the Shout could tell him that but somehow, he just knew.

Guts twisting like the wild lightning that danced dangerously close above, he ran.

* * *

><p>Alduin was gone. And he had no map. Or sense of direction in this storm. As it was, I could barely see more than two feet in front of me.<p>

Forgetting the wet mask that clung to my nose and mouth, I sucked in my breath sharply and almost choked. "Don't panic. He has to be near," I muttered.

Hurrying forward, I glanced to the left and right, trying to make out his form through the thick rain. Surely he would have stopped? Wouldn't he have realised that I was no longer with him?

"Alduin!" I shouted, raising my voice against the driving rain even as it continued to beat at the sodden ground. Any tracks he had left behind were long erased. "Alduin!"

My feet slipped, forcing me to slow down. Not even Farkas' nose would be able to track a scent through this miserable weather. It was a storm worthy of anything a Shout could conjure. 'A Shout, that's it!' I thought jubilantly. I was an idiot; I ought to have thought of it sooner and not let my fears for Alduin addle my brains.

"_Laas…_" Magic swirled from deep within and I could feel the power leaving me as invisible fingers reached out and—

I sensed the man coming up from behind seconds before he slammed into me. Caught in mid-spin, and with little more than mud to stand upon, I went down hard. An arm curled around my throat and squeezed like a vice. Suddenly, I could not breathe. The body that pressed down upon mine was heavily muscled and I barely found the strength to push back. He was a big brute and if he got me belly down with my arms pinned under…

Sharp explosions of pain erupted along the line of my neck and shoulder even as I thrashed wildly, sliding in the mud with my assailant. Oh gods, he had a knife and he was hammering at me with it. The enchanted leather would turn even a blow from a sword but held down and at such close quarters, all bets were off. The blood that I could faintly smell had to be mine.

"I thought I heard some shouting and look what I found. Just the very wolf and murderess we've been hunting."

Silver Hand. Somehow, they had managed to track us and I had been too stupidly wrapped up in my worries to sense them. For a moment, the rain looked red as rage exploded deep within my breast.

Hot breath stained my cheek as he growled in my ear; I could feel the point of the knife as he wedged it deep into an area just below my shoulder blade. The leather held, then gave as a tell-tale fiery sting snaked its way into my flesh. I had seconds before he pierced the armour and drove metal into my lungs. Ducking my head to the side, my hand came up and I rammed my fingers directly into what I prayed were his eyes.

They hit the rim of the socket before sliding in. He screamed as I drove them in further, curled them into talons. Something soft slid into my fingers and breath rushed back into my lungs as he began to release me, to lift his body off mine.

I grabbed. And I pulled.

His scream was deafening, shrill against the claps of thunder as he flung himself away from me, scrabbling in the mud with his hands pressed to his face, a bloody stream dripping beneath them. The eye was crushed in my fist, thick white-red fluids staining my hand as I rolled, bracing myself on shaking elbows as sweet air flooded my lungs.

"_They always hunt together." Farkas laughed grimly. "That's the one thing we have in common with the Silver Hand. They always come in a pair or more."_

"_Eyes up, lass…"_

The archer was little more than a shadow emerging through the rain when the arrow cracked my collarbone, the impact throwing me up on my knees before knocking me over on my back. The trouble I was in had barely registered, in spite of the excruciating pain that weaved itself over my body, when a second arrow struck me in the leg. This time, I screamed.

"You bitch!"

The gaping torn hole was a gruesome sight as he loomed over me, hands reaching for my throat as his blood and the rain fell on my face, slicked into my eyes. I hadn't realised the first man had stopped screaming. Now I would pay for it.

"Get off o' her! I'll finish it!"

"Nay, the bitch took my eye and I'll have my revenge!" Spittle flecked his snarling lips as I fought him, my hands clamped around his wrists, felt the arrow snap as his legs slid over mine when he tried to straddle me. Inside my leg, I felt something rip violently. The fresh agony was so sharp that for a moment, I feared I would pass out. His hands were getting closer.

The archer circled around us, looking for an opening even as I twisted desperately to keep the other man between him and I. There would only be one chance, one Shout...

"Move, damn yer! She'll be dead any—"

I did not hear the sound of the blade striking bone, but the head that rolled to a stop about a foot from us got our attention. This time, when the Silver Hand tried to move, it was my turn to hold on, to pull him down even as he tried to rise. I watched as Alduin came up from behind, sword raised against darkened skies, watched as he brought it down and waited for the Nightingale sword to emerge as it ripped through flesh, bone and layers of fur.

'Black as night, black with blood veiled in crimson light…' In spite of the rain, I felt warm, hot even. My fingers slipped from wrists that turned limp and I barely felt the ground beneath my hands as I watched the clouds above burn.

* * *

><p>He would have plunged the sword all the way through the man's beating heart, but that would have impaled Freyja as well. His hand shook with rage as he grasped the other by his neck, pulling him off the Dragonborn before sliding the blade in deeper, driving it up to the hilt. When he pulled the sword out, he shoved the corpse down in the mud. Alduin never saw the face of the Nord he had just killed.<p>

"Dragonborn." His eyes were riveted on her face, on those light blue eyes that had turned wide and glassy, the whiteness of her lips as he yanked down the mask, kneeling over her to shield her from the rain. "Freyja…"

She blinked and seemed to focus on him for the first time. "Poison," she said thickly. "Help me sit up."

Her face was a twisted grimace even though he was as gentle as he could be, cradling her with one arm to support her. "I have to pull out the arrows." She lifted her hand, fingers groping along her armour before they brushed against the protruding shaft as she winced. "The wound is not deep enough for this to be pushed out through the other side—"

"Wait, we need to get out of this rain." He drew in a deep breath but before he could cast the spell, she stopped him by clumsily pressing a hand to his lips.

"Silver Hand hunt in a pack. The rain offers some protection from others out there. Besides, there's no cave or shelter in this area…the ruins are a full day's journey ahead." Even though her face was taking on a greyish tinge, she managed a slight crooked smile that only drew more attention to the fact that she was in pain. "The rain won't kill me, and neither will this. It just hurts."

The faint warmth of her fingers seeped in against his lips and when she removed her hand, Alduin felt the chill of the rain acutely. Freyja's hands were shaking from the poison. "Let me," he said shortly.

She closed her eyes and turned her face away. "Is there really a Shout to clear the weather?"

He had done it for Sinding but this was Freyja and he loathed the thought of inflicting further pain on her. "Yes, there is. If we have the ability to cloud the skies and bring the rain…" There was every chance that the arrowhead might break off because of the leather but they would have to risk it. He pressed fingers into the tear of the armour, widening the split while trying to get a grip on the part of the shaft closest to the arrowhead.

Her breath came out in a gasp. "You brought fire…" Then she cried out, a half-strangled sound that escaped her throat even as he tore the arrow out in one smooth motion. The smell of blood grew stronger and lingered in spite of the healing spell he cast.

Colour returned to her cheeks and when she opened her eyes, they looked clearer. "One more to go," she said quietly as she sat up straighter, shifting away from his arm. "We're going to need all hands for this."

Wordlessly, Alduin reached for the second one. The jagged remains of the shaft were slick with blood and there was barely anything to grasp. While Freyja pressed the edges of the leather apart, he was forced to pull it out slowly, tried to ignore the sickening sensation of her flesh caught on metal, tried not to hear the Dragonborn's quick pants or notice the way her knuckles turned white as she dug her fingers in and pulled at the armour.

Minutes later, the arrow was removed and Freyja seemed to sag into herself, her spine going slack with relief as she pressed a hand over the bloodied area. "Thank you," she whispered raggedly even as golden light shimmered over her bent form, closing her wounds.

"Is the poison gone?"

She shook her head, attempted to rise and he caught her arm swiftly, pulling her to her feet. "I don't have the right potion to cure poisons but healing spells will counteract the effect, all the same. I just have to keep casting until it runs its course."

He watched her rearrange the cowl, tucking it swiftly back into place over soaked blonde hair. Now that it was over, Alduin realised how drained he felt; his hands were shaking slightly as he spread them, lifted them to the rain so that the red would wash out. Her blood on his hands, he thought numbly. And there would come a day…

"Alduin?"

She was staring at him and quickly, he dropped them and made a show of looking around and up at the sky. Nothing had changed. "Will this accursed storm ever cease? And if you wish it to remain, how will we find our way to the town?"

Freyja arched a brow but did not retort. "It's called magic, specifically a Clairvoyance spell." Her brow furrowed as she extended an arm, palm up. Blue light swirled, spilled from her hand down to the ground before gathering itself into a mist-like funnel that flowed at an angle to their right. "And that would be the path to take."

"That is a most useful spell. You will teach it to me when we reach those ruins you mentioned."

"You know, saying 'please' is not going to mortally wound your ego. And the roadside ruins are just beyond Falkreath. We might as well find rooms at the local inn."

"Then you ought to have said so then."

"I ought to have—why you…"

He stopped her by grabbing her wrist and pulling her along with him. "We do not have all day, Dragonborn. And as you said, the Silver Hand might well be out there hunting us." And not even the Nine would be able to help any who crossed their path. He would kill them all, even if they threw down their weapons and fled.

"Alduin, unhand me!"

He could not help himself. It felt reassuring, the solidness of her wrist captured between his fingers. She was alive and well, and near. For the moment, that was all he wanted to care about. "Why should I, when you have proven yourself most efficient at getting lost in this storm? I cannot lose you—"

He shut his mouth so quickly he almost bit down on his tongue. But the words were out. 'Not again.'

* * *

><p>I actually felt glad when he began snapping at me about the storm. That sounded far more like the Alduin I had grown used to. My legs still felt somewhat unsteady and there was no chance of getting a hot bath and a nice meal until we reached Falkreath, which was a whole day's travel away. Still, the world felt more right than it had a while ago. 'Even if it did take some poison and two arrows to get him talking to me,' I thought wryly. I wouldn't volunteer myself for such an experience again but at least something good, apart from not dying, had come of it.<p>

He looked visibly impressed with the Clairvoyance spell and although the entitlement in his demand irritated me, I knew it was a good sign. Things were returning back to normal between us, and that inevitably meant that I would never get the better of him in an argument. I could live with that.

Then he grabbed my hand and pulled the proverbial rug from beneath my feet. I might have actually fallen, if he had not maintained such a firm grip on my wrist. My first thought was that my pulse was jumping like a mad thing and I hoped to Talos and Nocturnal that he could not feel it. The second was that this would not end well. It brought us back too closely to that one moment of drunken folly two nights ago.

"Why should I, when you have proven yourself most efficient at getting lost in this storm? I cannot lose you—"

'Not again!' my inner voice squeaked as I watched Alduin's face turn an interesting shade of white. He clamped his jaws so tightly together I could see a muscle ticking away in his cheek. The sudden weakness in my knees had nothing to do with the remnants of the poison in my system.

He would have dropped my hand but I held on to his. "Alduin, please." We slowed to a standstill. "Don't do this."

The few seconds of silence that followed would easily rank as one of the longest I had ever endured. "That is too easy for you to say." When he finally spoke, I could barely hear him.

'No, it isn't.' But the thought would not translate into words.

"What do you want then?" He turned to face me and I felt the force of his cold gaze like a physical blow. Golden eyes bore into mine.

Say something, say anything. "I just…" My heart had grabbed my throat and was closing it up. "… this is all the time..." It was the one distinct thought I could retrieve from the maelstrom inside my head.

He tilted his head slightly. "All the time?"

"All the time we have," I whispered, lowering my eyes. It was easier to speak when all I could see were the dark shapes of the trees whose edges were smudged by the rain. Then those were blocked off as he came to stand directly in front of me.

"What do you mean?"

Don't say it, don't make me say it. "You and I, we're meant for…we can't change what we are. But we're not there yet." He was standing too close and it was so hard to breathe.

His fingers curled around mine. "Freyja…"

It was all I could do to return the press of his hand against mine. "Please," I whispered, and hoped he understood all I was trying to say.

I lost count of time as the rain beat down on us from above. I dared not look up at him. He would see too much and I had given away too much.

Finally, he sighed softly, stroked a thumb over my knuckles. Then he stepped back and we began walking again. The wetness on my face felt warm and I welcomed the rain now, more than ever, needed its chill to cool the hot tangle of emotions I had become. Whatever had transpired could not be undone. And eventually, it would catch up with us, for good or ill.

But not for the moment. Not yet.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N:_ _Well, the Muse has shocked me and I hope given all a pleasant surprise with this update. :) Once again, thank you for all your lovely reviews. And please, feel free to wonder as much or let me know exactly what you think or wish would happen, or are guessing will take place. I've said it before and I'll say it again. There is nothing I enjoy more and the ideas and thoughts you have shared have shaped this story and kicked the Muse into existence to keep me writing. I find myself thinking of spin-offs and side stories to Dragonrend and those seeds have been planted by you guys. So who knows? :) There may be some more Freyja and Alduin even after this story ends. And I completely enjoyed hearing about how this story affected the way you played the game! Seriously, thank you for that. As for this chapter, it was prompted by those who pointed out some confusion about what mask Freyja is wearing and I hope this clears it up. Someone left really constructive criticism and that got the Muse in gear. I've tried to rectify that and made this story better. Also, I do recall a review which asked what kind of Shout Alduin used to give the dream. I've been consulting the page of Dragon Language but I'm not confident enough, which is why I hardly use it. I'll be happy to have a beta for this, seriously. As always, I hope it makes for good reading. Do let me know what you think!_

**DRAGONREND **

**XX.**

Silence, Alduin learns, can be both intimate yet painfully awkward. Eventually, the Dragonborn found an excuse to slip her hand from his. It might have upset the delicate balance that hung between them, but for the fact that she immediately came closer, walked near enough to merit an occasional brush of their elbows or her shoulder against his arm. The proximity would have given her devil horse a fit, if it had been here to witness this. Alduin bites down a small grin at the thought. He understands what Freyja means by this and for now, this suffices.

Like the battered, isolated landscape around them, they are walking a fine line in a strange, unrecognisable place. Barriers have fallen because they have been pushed across lines purely by circumstance. Neither of them has been here before. He is right to say she has turned his world upside down; she has done more than that. When he thinks back on it, Alduin feels himself bewitched, possessed. He was not himself when he took her by the wrist; the smell of her blood, the sight of her pain unmakes him. He has never felt this way before, not about anyone or anything in the many ages that he has lived. How far he has fallen without knowing how he fell. He despises this overwhelming feeling of not knowing what to do. Indecision has never torn him the way it does now.

The memory of the returning pressure of her fingers against his flesh is a sensation he savours in the quiet that has settled upon them. Her silence, her reluctance to accept questions when he would have probed further strikes him as sweet, although it unnerves him badly. Perhaps her rejection of him is not as absolute as he thinks it is. The notion threatens to unravel a plan he has nursed in his heart, that he bred in timeless darkness, fed with hatred and vengeance.

Dragons desire and thus they possess. They take what they want. The Dragonborn maddeningly defies this. He cannot take without losing. Like him, she is Dov and to force her to his will would, he suspects, break both of them. There is a possible way but every fibre in his being rebels against it so vehemently that he has never given it thought again. For if he is not the World Devourer, than what is he?

_We can't change what we are…_

In that, she is correct. They will do what they must. Alduin has never thought that duty, that destiny and desire could be split one from the other. It is a lesson he struggles to come to terms with.

The silence continues until the early hours of the morning. They do not stop to rest because there is none to be found in the continuous downpour. Alduin is beginning to suspect that the Daedric Princes are attempting to drown him with rain. Then, the Dragonborn begins sneezing. And sneezing. It is something to break the silence with. For now, they can fall back under the cover of the banter that has characterised much of their relationship. He knows she will understand what he means.

For now, it suffices.

* * *

><p>Since neither he nor Freyja were willing to risk using the Thu'um for fear of drawing a Dovah's attention, alerting the Silver Hand to their whereabouts or both, which would be infinitely worse, Alduin had left the storm to continue its rampage over the land.<p>

Next to him, the Dragonborn managed to sneeze five times in a row before she lifted a crumpled wet cloth to wipe her nose, which was now a rather vivid red. She had given up pulling the mask over her nose and mouth and left the soft leather tucked beneath her chin. In spite of the cold, two bright spots of colour marked her cheeks. Freyja gave another almighty sneeze and cursed.

Alduin turned, opened his mouth, received a warning glare from the wet Dragonborn and proceeded to speak anyway. "This would not have happened if you had worn the mask."

"I thought we weren't going to have this conversation again."

"It was a mask I had commissioned to be created, which I endowed with power myself. It is my mask."

"You did give it to Hevnoraak."

"As a token of favour, yes. But—"

"Then it is his mask and I am not wearing it."

"But since I have given it to you," he continued smoothly, as though she had never interrupted, "it is now yours and you should have worn it. If you had, you would not be as you are now."

"I'm fine," came the sullen reply.

It was a terrible injustice that no sneezing fit came upon the stubborn woman at that moment. It would have been divine to rub that in her face. "The last of the poison left your system only hours before and now you are ill from having been exposed to this storm in a weakened state. If you had been wearing the mask, neither would have befallen you."

Perhaps if he had swallowed his injured pride and allowed her to walk beside him, the entire incident might have been avoided. But since Freyja did not point that out, Alduin concluded there was no need for him to do so either.

"I still dream about Shearpoint, a dragon and your servant Krosis trying to turn me into a pile of ashes. And Hevnoraak nearly did the same to us with his lightning. So, you'll understand if I feel some slight aversion to wearing the same type of mask that used to adorn their undead faces."

He arched a brow at her, knowing his amusement showed clearly on his face. "What?" Freyja asked defensively.

"I am wearing the armour of a group which has dedicated itself to the systematic slaughter of my race. And if I do recall, you were the one that said, and I quote, "What matters most is being pragmatic. We do what we must." I do believe that prior to that, you were espousing the human virtue of enduring the unpleasant."

The look on Freyja's face was priceless. And then it was ruined by another sneeze. She blew her nose again, sniffled, and muttered something about it not being fair. "If you insist on harping on this, I am not speaking to you."

"Merely because I am right?"

"That too."

It took him a few seconds to realise that she was conceding the point to him. "Will wonders never cease?" he murmured.

"Stop being annoying or I'll beat you with the flat of my blade."

"I knew it was too good to be true—ouch!" Alduin glared at her as he shied away, rubbing the back of his arm. While the gauntlets and pauldrons covered most of his arms, there were still some exposed inches and the Dragonborn had taken advantage of that.

Freyja smiled sweetly before sheathing her sword. "I did warn you. And that proves I'm not that sick. One would think I was at death's door, the way you are nagging."

She had certainly looked it when he had first found her. An archer ready to put another arrow in her while another man tried to crush her throat. Squabbling with her was a welcome option; it took his mind off the image. "I do not nag. It is good advice. Only the unappreciative and obtuse would think otherwise," he replied stiffly.

"It's just a cold, Alduin. I'll live. You might not if you insult me again."

The words raised his hackles, but the slight curve at the sides of her mouth did much to sooth them away. Freyja was teasing, although the dark smudges of fatigue that stood out against her pale skin warned him not to further annoy her by testing her patience. Even if he was right, he thought, slightly aggrieved. Still, she had admitted as much. He could forgive her.

"I'll think about wearing the mask next time, okay? Especially if we're going to face a den full of vampires."

So silence could be a virtue after all, especially if it misled her into thinking he was more upset than he was. "Vampires? I have heard of those. They are easily crushed by the Dov." Naturally, none had challenged him and even the Blood Dragons had easily killed them. The latter had a curious habit of dissolving into ash when slain, an interesting titbit that the ever-curious Dov had passed on.

Freyja shrugged but he noticed the slight shudder than ran over her slender frame. "You might not find them so easy to handle when you're stuck in a small dark space with them. And even if you survive, you might be infected."

Ah, so that explained her concession. "Infected? I have never heard of any Dovah falling ill after encountering the night stalkers."

That fact seemed to intrigue Freyja. "Don't dragons fall ill?"

Alduin snorted. "Of course not. We are beyond such frailties." He pretended not to see her roll her eyes. "The only reason why a Dovah may perish is if he falls in battle."

"Mmm. No sanguine vampiris alarms for the Dov then. Maybe you should carry the mask in case we run into vampires."

"I am well aware of my present vulnerabilities." He scowled. "Why should I have more need of the mask than you?"

She blinked and the slight twitch of her lips showed she wanted to say more. However, the moment passed and in the end, she kept the thought to herself. "I have the option of the Beast Blood, if I ever get infected and cannot cure myself in time. I wouldn't know how to cure you if you became a vampire."

Freyja's unnatural Thu'um had already stretched the limits of his endurance when it twisted his body. The thought of being forced to undergo another unwanted physical transformation more than horrified him. The very thought was terrifying. "This is the same Blood that gives Sinding the ability to turn into a werewolf?"

Freyja nodded, carefully negotiating a natural barrier of rocks they were forced to clamber over. In the end, they had to hold on to each other's arms for balance. More than once, she steadied him, and it seemed to his eye that those black boots gave her a far surer grip on the wet, jagged stone than was normal. Then again, the armour was Daedric in nature, probably from Nocturnal. He could sense the magic emanating from it, recognised the distinctive touch of Oblivion enchantment.

When they reached the other side, Alduin released her, betraying none of the reluctance he felt at relinquishing her hand. He had had sufficient time to calm his frayed nerves and apart from the sneezing, she was hardly in danger. There was no need to reassure himself with a physical touch.

"Lycanthropy, or Beast Blood, has the ability to cure all sicknesses, or keep fatal ones at bay. It will kill the sanguine vampiris strain, or so Aela assured me.

"I would have thought a refusal would have led the Companions to rescind the offer. Why would this Aela seek to persuade you?"

* * *

><p>So he did remember. Alduin's capacity to retain detail is not the only thing that startles me; it is the fact that we are having this conversation at all. In the past months I have made it a point to share as little as possible. Details that matter have to be prised from me. Since when have I started offering them to him with an ease that slips in so comfortably past the safeguards I've created?<p>

'This is what happens when the lines become blurred,' I think with some despair. At the core of my being is an overwhelming desire to belong, to put down roots; it is what defines me as much as Alduin, as much as being the Dragonborn. It is here that he is far more dangerous than he could ever be on a field of combat. Against my better judgment and at a moment when I had not been watching, Alduin put a foot in the front door of my heart and even now, is surely inching his way in.

"Dragonborn?"

"Why do you always call me that? My name is Freyja." Even to my own ears I sound abrupt and waspish.

Something in Alduin's face hardens before it fades. There is no reply and a part of me rejoices while another part demands I apologise, that I make things right. And not because I have been rude either. The prospect of him being upset with me is disturbing and this in turn, makes me angry with myself. This is why we have ended up in this strange situation in the first place, why I opened my mouth and practically confessed that my feelings for him are not what they ought to be.

"Because that is your name." He sounds as cool as the unrelenting rain. He may be older than the grey skies above. The Dov never die; they go on forever. I wonder when he first began. "In the tongue of your race, you are called Freyja. To the Dov, you are Dovahkiin. It is as much yours as Alduin is mine."

"How many other dragons have been called Alduin?" According to Delphine, there has always been a Dragonborn for the Blades to guard, even before they named themselves as such. When the Greybeards first called me, I rushed to High Hrothgar, eager to heed a summons that would tell me who I was, give me something to form myself with. At times like these, I realise it has become a title that hangs heavily around my neck.

He acknowledges my point with the slightest inclination of his head. But since this is Alduin, he always has a reply. It is one of the many things about him that rubs me the wrong way; it is something I've come to accept and even enjoy. Sometimes. "None. But I imagine that you are not the only Freyja in Nirn or even this country. Does it make this name of less value?"

Mutely, I shake my head and wince inwardly at the satisfaction that flits over his face.

"You are all different, Freyja. Each Dragonborn is unique unto himself or herself."

If I don't want to consider that I may have always been this transparent, I would have to admit that Alduin has gotten much cleverer at understanding me. Neither option bodes well but against all reason, one pleases me. "Have you met many of them?"

"I know of them. But you are the first I have encountered."

I try not to make too much of that last statement. Then he speaks no more and I realise the next move is mine to make. There's no harm done in letting him know about the Companions and the reason why I left them. "In Aela's eyes, I had proven myself worthy of joining their ranks as a wolf. It was tempting, for a moment. Werewolves have heightened senses and are immune to diseases. It might have been useful in battle." I leave out the phrase 'against him', but we both hear it anyway.

"So why did you not take it?"

A mirthless smile twists itself over my mouth. "I already have the soul of a dragon inside me. It was knowledge that I struggled with then." And even now, sometimes I still did. "The last thing I needed was a beast spirit from Oblivion fighting for control of my person." Farkas had shared enough to give me second thoughts. After my refusal, Aela and Skjor had told me to reconsider the offer and made it clear that I would have no more dealings with the Companions unless I changed my mind. Less than a day later, as I sat in my room and contemplated the prospect of packing my bags yet again, never knowing that somewhere out there Astrid was searching for the one who had taken the Dark Brotherhood's contract, Aela stalked into my room. Skjor was missing and she had a good idea where he had gone. And since she had not dared share those plans with the rest of the Circle, she had come to me. Sometimes I think Aela did it to punish me for my refusal, to have me make right what had gone wrong because of me.

Krev the Skinner, the prize that Skjor had not been able to resist, had fallen by my hand, not hers. Because I had avenged him, she owed me a debt. "The offer of the Beast Blood will always stand," she had told me stiffly the night I bade Jorrvaskr farewell. "Come back when you need a home."

"I thought about it, from time to time. And then I met Astrid." As though to punctuate the finality of that statement, the outline of roofs and walls with patrolling guards are suddenly visible. As always, the ghost of the hidden sanctuary calls to me as I pass it by.

"_What is the music of life?"_

"…_Silence, my brother…"_

Alduin turns sharply to the right and his hand falls swiftly to the pommel of the Nightingale blade. "Did you hear that?"

I catch him by the elbow before he does something foolish to antagonise Sithis or the Night Mother. Or perhaps it is the ghost of Festus Krex, whom Nazir, Babette and I buried beneath the tree. We left Astrid's body in the sanctuary. None of us wanted to touch her. Everyone else we took care of. "Let's go." I tug at him and after a moment, he relents and follows. Then we are swallowed up by the relative safety of the little town. I ignore the small guttural whisper in my head, the one that reminds me I had best not forget about Mother.

Finally, the rain rapidly lightens to a faint drizzle. And I suddenly realise that it's been awhile since my last sneezing fit. To some extent, I do believe in coincidences, in luck. I think to myself, that this must be an auspicious sign.

* * *

><p>Everyone was staring at them. Alduin shifted self-consciously, looking ahead while trying to ignore the eyes that practically crawled over him. For some reason, the rain did little to discourage the people of Falkreath from venturing outdoors. Freyja drew respectful murmurs from the guards, who startled him by addressing her by her Dovah name.<p>

"How do they know who you are?" he asked quietly, following closely next to her while he examined the buildings. Most were much larger than Old Hroldan, the houses solidly built with fat, well-thatched roofs. Still, they looked tiny when one took into account the magnificent backdrop of the mountains that seemed to encircle the town from where he stood.

"Dragons have a habit of visiting Falkreath. I happened to be in town during those times," Freyja replied dryly.

Ah, that explained everything. Nearby, a dark-haired woman paused in her tracks, her mouth dropping open. Two others they passed giggled. The elderly man they were with shot him a stern glare before ushering them away. Alduin glanced down at Freyja who was nonchalantly rubbing at the torn leather of her armour. Apparently nothing strange was happening, at least nothing he was aware of. His pride was slightly stung though; he hated the idea of being mocked. But since Freyja would probably object strenuously to any attempts to strike fear into the hearts of the people, Alduin decided to put the thought aside for the moment.

"We can find rooms here. This is the local tavern, Dead Man's Drink."

Freyja pushed open the door, stepped inside and Alduin almost bumped into her when she came to an abrupt halt. The reason why made itself apparent by the loud strains of music that assaulted his ears. But it was the accompanying blasphemous lyrics that made him see white, then red.

"_But a day, shall arise, when the dark dragon's lies, will be silenced forever and then! Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw, Dragonborn be the savior of men!"_

No god ought to have to endure this. Alduin lunged and met solid resistance in the form of Freyja who dug in her heels while shoving her back against him. "Delacourt!" she bellowed even as they struggled at the doorway.

"Yes, my lady! The guards told me you had arrived and I felt it was most fitting for all to hear your praises."

Through the veil of red, Alduin realised that the imbecilic bard did not seem to notice that his life was in danger. Freyja's boot came down on his and a gasp of pain escaped his clenched teeth. That momentary distraction enabled her to shove him up against the door before she sent a small coin purse flying through the air at the bard who eagerly caught it. "Perhaps another song," Freyja panted.

"A Tale of Tongues, my lady?"

"No!" Freyja's shout echoed with enough force to make the crockery laid out on the tables jump. A candle or two went out. "Ragnar the Red or anything that does not speak of dragons! It upsets my companion."

The fair-haired bard looked suitably stricken as he hugged the lyre to his chest, the same lyre that Alduin had thought to break over his head. "My apologies, my lady! I had not noticed."

"Yes, we noticed." Freyja's smile was plastered tightly to her face even as he fought to free himself from her grasp. "And we will let it pass, right? We don't want to make a scene. So calm down." That last part came out in a harsh whispered hiss as she twisted his left wrist and Alduin felt his entire hand go numb. Then she released it, having made her point.

The second song that filled the air was as discordant to his ears as the first and for that alone, the bard ought to have been put to death. Still, as he massaged his tender wrist while wondering how quickly he could take down the Dragonborn, who was staring warily at him, Alduin realised that every eye in the inn was trained on them.

Momentary pleasure, however gratifying, would not make up for the trouble that followed. And it was in his best interest that nobody discovered the truth about what happened to him. So Alduin swallowed his pride, yet again, and satisfied himself with an angry smouldering glare that made Freyja step back. She looked uncertain but when it became clear that he had ceased all plans for turning the bard into a crimson smear on the wall, she walked further to the counter where the innkeeper was.

Unwilling to follow her, Alduin retreated to an empty table. Removing his helmet, he ran a hand though his wet hair, brushing it well back from his face. It was a relief to get rid of the weight, and the warmth of the roaring fire was most welcome after the storm.

"By Shor's bones!"

She had to be a serving maid, for she carried a tray upon which rested some tankards. And she was dressed in a fashion that he had yet to see on any human female. In spite of himself, Alduin's eyes widened. He had never seen so much glossy skin exposed before, and the thick golden necklace she wore dipped low into the deep curves between her… Now that he gave the matter some thought, he did not know the word for that particular aspect of a woman's anatomy.

"A handsome man in Falkreath," she exclaimed, her accent thick and strange to his ears. When she leaned down and placed a drink in front of him, her hair gleamed red in the light of the fire and her brown eyes shone just as brightly as her gaze slid over him. Alduin had the distinct impression that she was not merely being hospitable. Still, he was not quite sure what she was up to. And she was too close for comfort. "A strong drink will chase off the chill in the air."

After Knifepoint Ridge, the last thing Alduin wanted to put down his throat was alcohol of any kind. He was about to refuse her politely when Freyja came up from behind. Her brow was furrowed and her gaze hard as she looked at the serving maid.

"Narri."

"Oh, excuse me, Dragonborn! What do you need?"

"Hot baths drawn up for my friend and I, and a meal after that. We'll eat here in the hall."

"As you wish," Narri said smoothly. Then, she turned and winked at a perplexed Alduin before striding away. Her hips flounced seductively and he realised just how high that skirt was cut when the smooth expanse of her thighs peeked out from it. For a woman working in an inn, she dressed in a very strange fashion. He thought of Eydis and doubted that she would have ever worn anything like that.

Freyja cleared her throat and he realised that she was waiting. He easily caught the key she tossed at him. "Your room is next to mine. I'll see you out here for dinner." Before he could say anything, she walked away. After weeks and months together, he knew from the slightly rigid way she held her shoulders and the quickness of her pace that she was upset. She did not slam the door though, but because he had been listening for it, he could hear her lock it. 'She has the gall to be angry with me when I have spared that maggot's life,' Alduin fumed, looking around in search of the unlucky bard. He noticed how quickly Delacourt, on the other side of the room, skittered towards a table full of men who were busily tucking into their evening meal. If only he truly knew who it was he had angered. Alduin was ready to wager Nirn itself that the truth would make the man keel over and give up the ghost without him having to even lift a finger.

From the corner of his eye, he saw someone approach. It was the innkeeper. Darker than Narri and shorter, she had a welcoming smile on her face and a glint in her eye that was comparable to the one her serving maid had had. And like her servant, she too wore a dress that exposed a great deal. "Welcome to Dead Man's Drink. I'm Valga Vinicia. Narri is drawing up your bath now. Perhaps I could show you to your room?"

What was it with the women of this inn, Alduin wondered as he followed Valga. The smile that she gave him just before he closed the door was best described as predatory. And like Narri's wink, it left him thoroughly confused.

* * *

><p>It was the first hot bath I had had in a long time and I was not able to enjoy it. Pouring another bucket of hot water over my head did little to wash away the jealousy that was biting at my heels.<p>

"Well, what did you expect?" I muttered as I scrubbed my hair ruthlessly, pulling at the knots and tangles until they unravelled. By the time I was done, my scalp felt raw.

Of course women were going to find him attractive. He was tall, even for a Nord, and the armour gave the impression that he was a warrior, which he most definitely was. He was also easily the best-looking man in town. In fact, I had travelled back and forth over Skyrim and I could think of less than five men who had that kind of appeal when it came to looks. So, knowing all that I did, why was I jealous? So we had held hands, however briefly. Yes, I turned his world upside down but that probably had more to do with the Thu'um. For all I knew, Alduin's feelings would vanish when his dragon form was restored to him. We had made no promises and I was not going to be jealous. I would not permit such ridiculous reactions. If I could stifle the impulse to throw Narri across the room for shoving her breasts in Alduin's face, I could most assuredly manage that.

The storm had soaked through my pack and all my belongings were currently being dried out on a rather full tabletop. Searching the cupboard, I found a fresh set of clothes. Dresses were not exactly ideal for the kind of life I led but this would do, especially since it was in an appealing shade of deep green. Thankfully the laces fastened in the front, and the cut was relatively modest. The soft leather boots stretched to the knees and would keep my legs from the mud. My hair I left down and unbraided. The heat from the hearth fires would dry it soon enough. Habit made me fasten my sword belt around my waist, and my dagger went into the right boot as well.

'When you open this door, you will see Narri, Valga and probably every female between the ages of fifteen to seventy summers cooing over Alduin.' Given what a gossip Valga was and the way her eyes had devoured him even as I was arranging our lodgings, she had probably spread the word through the town and half the women would descend upon the inn. Hence, the need for the sword as well. Infatuated women usually had angry husbands, fathers and brothers in tow. And I was not about to leave them to Alduin's tender mercies.

However, when I finally came out into the hall, Alduin was nowhere to be found. For some reason, the inn looked more crowded than it had been a scant hour before. And it wasn't because the town's women had packed the place in to the rafters to catch a glimpse of Alduin. At the far end was one relatively empty table and I took my place there after indicating to Valga that she could bring me dinner. Another scan around the room revealed that Alduin had yet to emerge from his room.

"It's you!"

The exclamation was loud and came directly from across the table. Startled, I whipped around. I could have sworn that the seat had not been occupied. The wide smile that adorned his face was almost blinding.

"You do remember me, don't you Thane?"

"Stop with the titles and I will." It had only been a short conversation but I had seen him often enough when I had visited the Bannered Mare with the Companions and prior to that, during some Guild jobs in Whiterun. Each time we ran into each other, he would lift his glass, eyes twinkling mischievously. "So, what brings you all the way here, Sam Guevenne?


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Oh gosh, I really ought to have stopped hours ago but the chapter would not end! So here it is and I hope everyone enjoys this because Sanguine figuratively sucked the life out of_ _me. More importantly though, I would like to thank everyone who reviewed! As always, nothing warms the cockles of this (would-be) writer's heart than getting a review. I must say though, that some of you almost literally blew my mind with the humorous, wonderfully detailed reviews you left! You wrote down exactly what you liked, what moved you, what you found interesting and funny, what thoughts you have about the development of the plot, the lore and in short, you were stupendous and so very generous with your time and feedback. It was lovely to read how this story influenced your gaming experience; thank you so much for sharing that. And as always, I have new material and perspectives to chew over and consider as I write the next chapters because I am inspired. I cannot thank you guys enough. Also, it was great to hear from some of you whom I have missed as well! I'm glad that you still find Dragonrend a good read; sometimes I wonder if readers go missing because they think I've gone off the deep end with the story. :__P Anyway, since some reviews have expressed your wishes for a certain kind of ending, I am working my way towards that eventually. I will also come back to a further exploration of Alduin's past as well. Thanks for reading and I hope this chapter grabs you like it grabbed me!_

**DRAGONREND **

**XXI.**

The walls of the inn were of decent thickness but if he listened well enough, Alduin could hear the sound of splashing water as the Dragonborn bathed. Freyja was taking a long time, probably making the most of the hot water. Perhaps the bath would soothe whatever unjustified anger she felt at his attempt to punish the tone-deaf bard for his insolence. Beyond the door, he could hear the strains of music as well as a general increase in the level of noise. People were coming in for their evening meal. At Old Hroldan, it had always been relatively quiet. More often than not, evening meals consisted of Skuli, Eydis, Leontius, the Dragonborn and himself. There were no children here at the inn; indeed, he had not seen another human child in this town. He wondered how the red-haired boy was doing and thought rather wistfully of the times when they would sit by the river and wait for that familiar tug on the line. He thought of the lie woven into his farewell and felt his chest tighten up. It was mild, nothing compared to when he thought of the Dragonborn's eventual and necessary death, but all the same, he felt it because it was so foreign.

More splashing next door and a rumble from his stomach brought Alduin back to the moment. He was ravenous and his keen sense of smell informed him that roasted meat, lovingly spiced and marinated, was on the evening's menu. After days of nothing but travel rations, he was more than ready for a change. Narri would be out there though, as well as Valga. He thought briefly about the strange winks and smiles they gave him, the deliberate sway of their hips, the way the firelight suffused their skin with its warm glow, and wondered what Freyja would look like in such an outfit. A flash of heat seared his belly, curled itself lower and Alduin shook his head almost vehemently, trying to clear that last thought away. It would not do to entertain such a vision, especially when he knew that naught but a wall separated him from the bathing Dragonborn…

Alduin practically fled the room, pushing the door open so forcefully that it slammed shut on the rebound. He did not realise he had stepped right into Narri's path until it was too late.

She yelped as she crashed into him, and the familiar smell of mead invaded his nose as the cold liquid spilled down his chest. "Oops," Narri cried as the tray and tankards clattered to the floor and before he knew it, he had his arms full of the serving maid who somehow managed to plaster every inch of her body against his while clinging to his shoulders. Alduin frowned. He did not think the female could have possibly hurt herself by simply walking into him.

"Pardon me," she said, her voice a low purr. She blinked, and then blinked again. And again. 'Perhaps the mead has gotten into her eyes,' Alduin thought as he grasped her arms and set her away from him.

"By the Nines, you are all wet," she declared. "And so am I." She smiled widely and Alduin felt that somehow, in some mysterious way he had yet to fathom, he was prey. To his growing irritation, several men within earshot began sniggering and Alduin reminded himself that it was best to avoid bloodshed in public. If he managed to encounter them on a dark and lonely trail, that would be another matter entirely.

"Narri, clear the mess please," Valga called reprovingly as she emerged from the kitchen, her arms loaded with a full tray.

"Once I attend to our guest," the other woman replied cheerfully. "Do you have another spare set of clothes?"

The lie was almost on his lips, but he could not give it. The truth was, he had nothing else to wear. His own clothes were spread out on every available flat surface in the room and what he wore came from the cupboard. The cloth was coarse in comparison and the pants did not fit so well, but practically, there was nothing else to do but endure the momentary discomfort. Now though, the shirt was plastered to his chest and the mead, when dried, would eventually become sticky. Some things, Alduin decided, could not be put up with. "No."

"Well then, let us get you dressed," Narri cooed. "This way." She led him to the back of the counter and to his surprise, Alduin realised there were steps leading down to a lower level. She opened the door, and when she continued to hold it open and look at him expectantly, he realised she meant for him to follow her. A slight feeling of unease started to grow but he pushed it away. After all, he was Alduin, the Firstborn of Akatosh. It was beyond absurd to think a mere slip of a woman could do him any harm.

The place felt cramped to him, the ceiling lower than anything he had ever experienced and in spite of the sweet smell of flowers, the air within had a somewhat stale quality. There was a strange aura in this place, a vaguely familiar presence. Alduin was wondering if the cupboards he espied held his spare clothes and the sound of the door closing was hardly of any concern. It was only when he heard the click of the bolt being drawn into place that he realised Narri was up to something more.

"What are you—? The words crumbled in his mouth and again, his eyes widened. The woman was disrobing. It was only with some effort that he locked his jaw in place to keep his mouth from falling open. He had never seen the form of a human female before, not as it was now being presented to him. She pulled her hair free of the short braid and let the red locks wave gently around her shoulders.

"Finally," she said, the low thick timbre of her voice winding its way across to him in the silence that had gone perfectly still. "We are all alone." And then it dawned on him, what she was after.

The last thing that flashed into Alduin's mind, just before Narri pounced, was that it would have been better if he had understood what the woman was up to before he had entered her lair.

* * *

><p>Sam, I realised, was actually more than pleasant-looking. He was nowhere near as handsome as Alduin who apparently had demonstrated that, dragon-god or not, he had the power to freeze women in their tracks. But Sam had his own appeal, with fine sharp features, glossy dark brown hair and smooth skin that was several shades darker than a Nord's.<p>

Still, there had always been something about Sam that I could not quite put my finger on. It lay in the way he cocked his head, the speculative gleam in his eye, the way his eyes seemed to dance at some hidden secret. I could see and feel but not articulate exactly why I could not quite trust the chatty mage. There was just something about Sam that made me think twice—

"Mage's business," he smiled, touching his nose lightly. "I'm not at liberty to comment though. What I can say is that after that awful storm, a strong drink and a hot meal is what a man needs to put fire back in his belly."

"You might be Breton in blood but your fixation with alcohol is completely Nordic," I smiled.

"I don't suppose you have changed your mind about that drinking contest?" He leaned in eagerly, an absolutely charming smile on his face.

"No, I haven't and I doubt I ever will." Valga appeared at my side and placed a piping hot dish of grilled fish with a thick, succulent side of chicken that smelled wonderfully of the herbs it was stuffed with. The only ability I possessed in the kitchen was not to burn it down and for that, I had an especially deep admiration for those who could cook well. My stomach promptly expressed its thanks with a series of loud growls that were audible even to Sam. "That looks delicious, Valga."

"Eat the food while it's hot; don't bother waiting for your friend. It'll take awhile before he finally shows up for dinner," she said, a sour expression on her face. Before I could ask what she meant, she strode off to serve the next table.

"Oh boy," Sam whistled softly. "It's been a long time since I've seen Valga that unhappy. Not since she and Bolund went their separate ways. I guess she's just jealous of Narri."

What I might have wanted to know was how he knew that much town gossip. At the moment though, the mention of Narri had me completely distracted. "Narri? What does she have to do with Aldin?"

"So that's his name. Tall chap, black hair?" When I nodded, Sam continued. "Quite a hit with the ladies, I imagine. Valga's right, you might as well eat up first. Narri took him downstairs to her room, and I'm ashamed to say this in the presence of a lady, and the Thane no less, but speaking from experience, Narri's very thorough, if you catch my drift. Your friend will probably be preoccupied," Sam wiggled his brows suggestively, "for the next few hours."

If Sam had reached across the table and hit me across the face, I could not have been more stunned. My hands stilled and although the food was still delicious, my appetite had died a swift and silent death while Sam had been speaking.

"In fact, I'll take my hat off to him if he manages to walk straight. I barely made it up those stairs."

All right, now I wanted to beat Sam for giving me far too much sordid information that my mind was feverishly focused on. "How long have they been down there?"

"Long enough. If he had told her 'no', he would have been out here before you. Say, you don't look so good…"

Very deliberately, I picked up the eating knife, sliced up my chicken, deboned the fish and ignored the steady way that Sam's eyebrows climbed to almost meet his hairline. When I was done, I scraped the knife against the side of the platter. The meal lay in neat, bite-sized portions and I had managed that without once fantasising about how wonderful it would feel to do that to Narri. Alduin on the other hand…

"That was impressive. Only the Dragonborn could produce such savage grace with a knife and not destroy her meal."

My eyes met his and Sam gave a fake cough before reaching for his tankard. It was mild gratifying to see him pull back to put a little more space between us. Quietly, I began to eat. Life had to go on and the world was not going to end just because Alduin had chosen to expand his scope of experience as a human. Neither, I decided calmly as I took another bite, was I going to blame him. After all, we were nothing to each other, merely enemies forced together by circumstances that made us reliant on each other. It was ridiculous to feel jealous. There was no good justification for the raging desire to rip open the door and literally breath fire on the both of them. It was taking a great deal of self-control to sit here and act normal but I was going to do so until it ceased to be pretence.

"Here, I think you need this." A tankard was pushed into my line of vision.

"I've said it before, Sam. No thank you, I don't want to have a drinking competition."

"Damn the drinking competition," he exclaimed. "Look, this is my special brew and I guarantee it'll help. Just take a sip. It's the least I could do after opening my mouth and putting my boot in, and still managing to run it off."

That might have elicited a grin from me, if my heart didn't feel as though it was being ground up into fine dust. When I didn't protest, Sam plucked up his courage and nudged the tankard against my cold hand. "Take it as accepting my apology. I ought to have known…"

"You don't have to be sorry, Sam." Even I was impressed by how wonderfully neutral and objective I sounded. "And there's nothing to 'know'. Aldin's just a travelling companion. He can do what he wants." Anger flickered and the world took on a crimson tinge for a moment before I wrestled my emotions back into order. "As can I."

Almost rebelliously, my fingers wrapped themselves around the handle of the tankard. In spite of my reservations, I had always been curious about the mage's brew. 'So why deny yourself any longer since Alduin is downstairs indulging himself at this very moment?'

Too late, a vision of naked, entwined bodies and dark hair against white sheets flashed across my mind. It was interrupted by the icy cold touch of Sam's brew against my lips. Sweetness so intense it was sharp spiked down my tongue into my throat. And in the aftermath blazed a trail of spicy warmth seemed to flood my system.

"It's good stuff, isn't it? I told you it was special."

My only response was to shove the empty tankard at Sam and watch as he filled it up again.

"Here you go, another one just for you." Sam smiled so widely and it occurred to me that there seemed to be too much teeth in that grin. "Down the hatch."

Before I knew it, the rim of the tankard was at my lips again and I was drinking deeply, thirstily. 'Sam is right. This is brilliant stuff.' By now, the warmth had ignited into a low fire that seemed to nestle and spread through my veins. Best of all, the anger and confusion that had throbbed like a secret pain was diminishing. I could barely remember why I had been so upset in the first place.

That in itself was enough to warrant another round of the brew. I slouched down on the table, chin resting on one hand, watched in rapt attention as Sam filled my cup again from a highly polished silver vessel. "How'd you make this drink?" I asked. My tongue felt thick in my mouth and there was a distant realisation that I was slurring and that I could not care less that I was. It felt so liberating.

"In a place where the wine flows like water." Sam smiled down at me. "We should go there, you and I. You're a fun person to drink with."

The tankard felt so heavy in my hand as I dragged it across the table. And suddenly, Sam was there right beside me, his hand clasped over mine as he helped me bring it to my lips. "Perfect, you did it," he murmured soothingly in my ear as I tilted my head back and drained the last dregs. Vaguely, I felt the tankard slip from my hands, realised that I was leaning against Sam, that his breath was so very warm in my ear…

"My dear, dear Dragonborn," he crooned, his fingers sweeping my hair to one side and I heard the faint ring of a clasp as he fastened something around my neck. "This will be a night to remember."

* * *

><p>He had not planned for any of this to happen. Still, the outcome had been unexpectedly satisfying, and the experience, rewarding.<p>

"Is there anything else you need?" Narri asked as she fiddled with the straps of her dress. "I do not think there is more that I can teach you and Valga will be needing me to help out. We must be well into the hour of the evening meal by now."

On the bedside table next to Narri, the golden statue of Dibella gleamed in the candlelight, as did the deep blue stones scattered around the base. At first, he had thought them sapphires but a closer study revealed that they were no more than skilfully cut pieces of coloured glass. Alduin smirked inwardly at the representation of the Divine. The goddess would have to try a lot harder if she wanted to get the better of him. He was not counted in the pantheon of the Nine but he was no less revered or rather, feared.

Almost as though she sensed his mockery of her goddess, Narri frowned, her mouth collapsing into a tight line. "Are we finished here? If so, I would like the book back."

Briefly, he considered keeping the tome. Although he was unable to read the words, the pictures had been extremely enlightening. Without those, it would have been far more difficult to understand Narri's instructions about the anatomy of human females, let alone the mating habits of humans, especially once he forced her to put her clothes back on.

At first she had thought he had been playing hard to get, as she had termed it. But when it became clear that he did not want to mate with her, Narri had become furious. She would have walked out of the room, had Alduin not decided that perhaps the woman could be of use to him. He did, after all, realise that he was woefully ignorant of the female human form and there was no harm in getting one who was obviously vastly experienced to share some of her knowledge, although not in the way she had originally intended to.

Still, it had taken fifty septims to make her stay and Alduin was wondering how he would persuade Freyja to give him that sum. He could always offer her one of the diamonds he had. Except that the gem was worth far more than that amount of coin.

Mistaking his silence for hesitation, Narri raised her voice. "That book does not belong to me. I have to return it to the priestess Senna in Markarth and I do not think the goddess will look very kindly on those who steal from her temple." From the way she flexed her fingers, he could tell she was tempted to snatch it from him. Perhaps the memory of him drawing her own dagger on her helped her to keep her hands to herself. It gave him no pride to have done so; after all, she was unskilled in combat and merely a pest who offered no real threat. But he had become weary of dodging and sidestepping her attempts to grab him.

"Dibella would make an exception in my case," Alduin replied evenly as he stood up, looking down his nose at the woman as she grabbed the book and deposited it into the drawer of the bedside table.

"You speak blasphemy," she muttered.

"It is ignorance that leads you to such a conclusion."

Narri's mouth opened to give an angry retort but it never came because suddenly, the silence was disrupted by the muffled sound of tankards being smashed against the ceiling above. People were also shouting, Alduin realised.

Sweeping past him, Narri hurriedly unlocked the door and when she opened it, the roar of the crowd rolled in. The inn sounded as though it contained a small army, Alduin thought as he followed Narri up the stairs. Several bottles tumbled down the steps and it was sheer good fortune that he turned to the left and spotted someone hurling a tankard in his direction. He ducked, Narri screeched as it sailed past her face and struck the wall before crashing to the stone floor.

"Where's Valga?" she cried but he was beyond paying any attention to her. His gaze was frozen on the scene that greeted him.

Men stood shoulder to shoulder in a riotous crowd that surged and seethed around the two combatants who were bruised, bloodied and grappling with each other in earnest, egged on by the shouts of the spectators. Glass and metal glittered as men raised bottles and tankards, bathed in the light of the roaring hearth fire that surged dangerously high and sang with a life of its own. And in perfect tandem with the fire's glow, the shadows dipped and twirled, flowed over the walls and floors in waves that were thicker and darker than they ought to have been.

A shiver crawled down Alduin's spine and his skin prickled almost painfully. It was unmistakable, the wild magic in the air…

"Get him!"

"Take him down, you milk-drinker!"

"I want to 'ave a turn!"

"Me next! I'm next!"

And above the myriad voices that crashed against his ears, a woman's laugh, clear and high, soared.

'Freyja…'

Darkness rolled back; the flames seemed to leap to the ceiling in a dazzling display. Pale golden hair flashed like living light and he saw her, ensconced atop a table, giggling as she curled herself up against a man that had his arm firmly wrapped around her waist, who whispered conspiratorially in her ear. Lips brushed against a delicate lobe, a hand delved into her soft hair and Alduin's world rapidly narrowed into nothingness, save for one fact.

He was going to kill him.

Then, his chosen victim turned his face and looked him right in the eye across the expanse of the hall. In that moment, Alduin knew exactly what it was he looked upon. His gaze pierced the veil of magic the other had disguised himself with and beneath the flesh and blood he saw another face staring at him.

A mouth, almost human, stretched open in a smile that revealed sharp white fangs. The intricate crimson swirls that stained ebony flesh stretched up to hair as black as night. From this sprouted four deep golden horns. His eyes were cold and hard, glistening like the black and red armour that adorned his person. A gauntlet-clad hand slipped down to rest at the back of the Dragonborn's neck, the massive hand with its wicked claws making a gentle circle around the column of her throat. No words were needed; the gesture spoke for itself. It was both a claim and a threat.

The Daedric Prince chuckled even as he pressed his cheek to the Dragonborn's, his knowing gaze striking Alduin like a physical blow. She returned the gesture, her eyes glazed, face flushed. Even from here, he could smell the dark magic that wrapped itself around her like a shroud. The fact that she was ensorcelled did nothing to lessen the rage that throbbed through him at the sight of her putting her arms around another male. It was enough to drive a god mad…

"Ah, Lord Alduin. I, Sanguine, welcome you as my guest."

The mocking salutation rumbled like thunder on the mountains, filled the room and apparently it was meant only for him. The humans, including the Dragonborn, did not even flinch. Instead, they remained fixated on the match between the two contenders who had now been joined by a third.

"Release her at once." He did not bother raising his voice above the din; he knew the Prince would hear him. At that moment, Alduin would have given anything to return back to his Dovah form. He would rip the impudent Daedra apart slowly, tear him fibre by fibre out of existence, and make him watch as he consumed him.

A clawed fingertip stroked Freyja's cheek, leaving a fine red welt in its wake. "All in good time. But not now! The festivities would end much too early and our night has just begun."

Sanguine was trying to goad him. He knew little about the Prince he was now confronted with; he had never concerned himself with the rulers of Oblivion, believing them beneath him. "The 'festivities' can begin when you put the Dragonborn aside and stop using her as a shield."

Throwing back his horned head, Sanguine laughed uproariously. "You think to take me as you are now? I must admit, your pride is impressive. One wonders if it is the only impressive thing left about you." His gaze turned speculative. "We've been making wagers, you know. Ever since we learned of your fall. Azura and Nocturnal would be most displeased if I proved them wrong. On the other hand, Mehrunes Dagon has made me a most tempting offer to give him the Dragonborn. I wonder what you will do to retrieve her if I did."

There would be nothing he could do to save her. Fear drained the colour from his face even as white-hot fury flooded him. "There will be a war in Oblivion such as you have never seen. Your brethren would cast you out to save their hides."

"All this for a woman who means to be the death of you?"

"She has a Dovah Sil; she is of the Dov. And all the Dov are mine." A soft growl punctuated his claim, reverberated with the traces of a Thu'um that he held back in his throat. Some of the merriment faded from Sanguine's face before he recovered himself.

"Well, as entertaining as war might be, that will have to wait. Otherwise I would never be able to fulfil my promise to Freyja here." He patted her head and Alduin silently gritted his teeth at the sight. "Although I must admit I am hardly impressed by this rabble."

"What are you blathering about?"

Pulling her long hair aside, Sanguine tapped the heavy gold amulet around Freyja's neck. The jade and pale green amethyst embellishments winked in the light. "Dear me, I must have forgotten to mention it. I did say you were a guest after all. You are invited to the wedding of the Dragonborn. Now, all I need to do is find her a husband-what do you think these louts have been fighting over-and we," he stood up and swept his arm over the crowd which magically fell silent and looked up at him with attentive faces, "can all be off to the celebration of the century."

Rapturous applause and loud shouts of approval greeted this announcement as Sanguine nodded graciously. When Alduin tried to use this momentary distraction to move closer to Freyja, he found his way blocked by a wall of bodies and looked up to see the Prince watching him.

"In fact, I think we should let the good people and the bride-to-be enjoy themselves at my humble abode first. That's one less thing to worry about."

Before Alduin could do anything, Sanguine clapped his hands together twice. Tankards fell to the floor and glass bottles smashed to pieces as they dropped in mid-air. The fire shrank, flames subsiding even as the shadows drew back. An eerie silence imploded upon the hall which, seconds before, had been full of life.

Every single person had vanished into thin air. They were gone. Including Sanguine.

For one moment, Alduin truly had no idea what to do or how to feel. There was just a blank slate, a void that he could feel himself falling into. He did not know where to start looking for her, and for one brief moment, he thought that perhaps tearing the town apart would help give vent to the dark despair that had gone temporarily dormant for these few seconds.

Perhaps it was most fortunate therefore, that just before he collected himself, magic pulsed in the air, and a large sheet of paper slid into existence out of nowhere and fluttered to a stop at his feet.

The letter was written in the language of the Dov; the strokes were flawless.

_Dear Alduin,_

_As amusing as it was to spend some time with you, I fear there are more pressing matters to attend to. If you do decide to attend the wedding, the ceremony will be held in the Misty Grove, beneath the depths of Morvunskar. You may find this fort somewhere southwest of Windhelm. However, you have but a day to make the journey. I'm sure you will find a way. Don't let me down! I am counting on you to make it, as is the Dragonborn._

_Best wishes,_

_Uncle Sanguine_

After crushing and reducing the letter to little more than finely shredded bits, Alduin went back to the room and donned his armour. When he realised he was trembling with rage, he sat down, calmed himself and resumed the task at hand. There was little point in entertaining revenge fantasies, he reasoned as he strapped buckles and ties into place with an ease born of practice. Those would wait until he arrived at Misty Grove. Once he managed to get Freyja away from Sanguine, there would be blood.

He wondered how long they had been watching him, watching Freyja. Sanguine knew so much about them and for the first time, Alduin considered the daunting possibility that the Daedric Princes might truly set themselves in opposition to him simply because of his plight. It was a thought, he ultimately decided, that would have to wait for another day.

When he slipped out of the tavern, the guards paid him little attention. Night had fallen but the sky above remained cloudy. It would take him a few hours to get up those mountains; he would be lucky if he managed to find what he sought in this darkness. He would be even luckier to survive it.

Like Sanguine, Alduin knew that there was only one way to reach Morvunskar within the span of a day. One would have to be a Dovah, or failing which, employ the aid of one. And somewhere up there in those mountains was Odahviing's burial mound, his bones silent and waiting for his master's call.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hi everyone, here's the new chapter and I hope it makes for a good read. It took a lot longer than I thought it would and there are parts I think could be better handled but I've put the Muse through the wringer and this is the best we can come up with. I originally intended for this to be one chapter but eventually, I decided on two because I wanted to include some of Odahviing's history. So if you have questions after reading this chappie, I think the second one should answer them. Also, I realised I did something spectacularly unintelligent; I forgot to consult the Dragon Atlas as to where Odahviing's burial mound would be. It ought to be in Riften, which is miles away from Falkreath. However, for the purposes of this story, please overlook my gaffe. There's no way to correct that although I consoled myself by thinking that since the Blades wormed that information out of tortured cultists, the latter may have lied...Now that I'm done confessing, I would like to thank everyone who reviewed! It was great to hear from some of you for the first time. :) I hope it's not the last. I'm surprised but really glad that everyone liked the idea of the Daedric Princes betting on Alduin's chances of surviving as a human. And it's great that you all found Alduin turning what should have been a seduction into an impromptu biology lesson amusing (Noartwist, I hope that clarifies things!). Many of you have expressed what you would like to see with regards to the wedding. I don't want to spoil anything but I will say this: there will not be a Hargraven. And the rating might go up, somewhat. I blame Sanguine. And I laughed reading what some of you shared about that wedding experience. I panicked too because I thought that since Sanguine married me off, I wouldn't get another chance to marry another NPC. I think some of you have brought up interesting ideas about where Alduin stands in the pantheon of the gods and how he would fare against the Daedric Princes. It's something to chew over as the story progresses, especially because I do have the end, or at least an end, in mind. But most of all, thanks for taking the time to review; I love hearing from you and I do mean it when I say your reviews keep me going. 'Dragonrend' has the Muse locked down and I seriously think it is because of the wonderful response I've gotten from you. As for the line breaks, someone mentioned it is a little confusing so I will keep line breaks solely to indicate a shift in tenses or a point of view. Also, Hoshigumo has done a mod and now she has a human Alduin in the game! Do check out her screenshots at Deviantart (they are posted in the scrapbook section). And Swash9, yup, that guy is definitely Eydis' husband. Thanks for the info! _

_Lastly, a word on the exchanges between Alduin and other dragons who realise who he is (I made slight references to Tolkien and Beagle). They would converse in Dragon Tongue, obviously, but I think it is not possible for me to write one like that because firstly, I lack the linguistic ability (I still can't figure out the sentence structure) and secondly, I love the authenticity but find it a PITA to constantly refer to a page to translate, even as a reader. So, I am writing the conversations solely in English. I did think of adopting the style that Paarthurnax and Odahviing use with the Dragonborn but felt it would make no sense with Alduin. Since it was all or nothing, I went with nothing. I hope everyone is okay with this. Translations for Alduin's resurrection spell can be found at the UESPwiki Skyrim Talk: Vuljotnaak section.  
><em>

**DRAGONREND **

**XXII.**

The road up the mountains is easy enough to follow and starts easily enough as well. Alduin notices that he is the only person travelling away from the town; the three people he passes by are all hurrying towards it, towards the flickering glow of torches carried by guards. They will be safe this night, provided no dragon decides to swoop down and attempt a massacre. Considering that he had commanded all the Dov to do their worst when he resurrected them, Alduin wonders what chance the townsfolk have of sleeping peacefully through the night. Some might call it justice, that he has no choice but to venture out into the wild and the darkness, to confront one of his own in this hour of need.

Freyja's absence lingers like a presence of sorts; it does not go away. In spite of the need to keep all his senses focused on his surroundings, for there is no one to guard his back, she is never far from his thoughts. He tells himself that it is because she is so essential to his plans; she is the key to returning to himself. At the same time, he thinks that the first body part he removes from Sanguine will be the latter's hands, followed by his lips. He knows there is more beneath it all, but there is no word for what he feels, for what he thinks could lie between him and the Dragonborn. There is no prophecy to offer him insight. He is thousands of years old but he feels as unsure as a newborn. And for the first time in what seems like such a long time, he is well and truly alone. It does not feel the same as it used to. He misses, he longs for. Such restless feelings unnerve him greatly. He would get rid of them if he could. Unfortunately, Alduin has the sinking feeling that the only way to do so is to find Freyja as soon as possible. It does not bode well for the future as he has planned it.

The path continues up and the silence thickens. He can hear the soft, barely audible grinding of the armour as he continues to walk on, hears the scuff of his boots on stone worn smooth by hard weather and even harder travel, listens intently to the sighing of the trees as they shake their leaves in the night wind, to the crunch of grass beneath furred paws. A broken tower looms on a small hill to the right and the mountains behind are dark shapes. There is no moon this night and barely any stars. Falkreath, it seems, has been birthed under perpetual shadow, the skies wreathed in grey. Ahead, he spots what resembles a mound of stones carefully shaped together, a ragged cloth bound to the narrow top of the pile. A marker of sorts, Freya had pointed out, meant to indicate a turning or the continuation of a path. Alduin looks for one that reveals a road that opens to his right. He hopes for it, else he will have to strike out on his own and leave it to sheer luck to stumble across a road that leads up the mountains. That could very possibly take the whole night, and that is time he does not have. A Daedric Prince's word, like a Dov's, cannot be trusted. Sanguine gave him a day; Alduin tells himself that it probably means a few hours at best. The thread of a very dark thought unwinds itself but he wrenches it back into non-existence by sheer force of will. He cannot think of what Sanguine is doing with the Dragonborn, not now when both Freyja and he are equally helpless to do anything about it.

In the gloom ahead he makes out two shadows, more solid than the darkness that surrounds them. He does not need to think before his hand covers the hilt of the Nightingale Blade. Whoever they are, they have yet to see him. Though he is human, perhaps some small mercy from Akatosh has enabled him to retain a fraction of the superb senses a Dov possesses. Dragon-touched sight enables him to pierce shadows that would confound even Freyja; he has not failed to notice the delay in her response as compared to his when something stealthy and light-footed approaches. Smell affects him far more than it does her, sometimes a curse more than a blessing. Three steps forward shows him all he needs to know and his hand falls from the blade. It is but a man and a woman, dressed in rough and worn clothing. The woman follows a few steps behind; the msn forges ahead, his eyes shifting warily from side to side. They skirt the edge of the path when they see him, and he realises how he must look to them. Their relief is stark and they let out the breaths they have been holding when he walks right past them without any hesitation. The husband turns to watch, almost as though he would speak to him but Alduin quickens his pace. Tonight, there is only one whom he desires speech with.

He hears the sound of a running stream and something sparks in his memory, the remembrance of a waterfall like a white thin scar as it winds its way down steep cliffs. Then he sees the marker and spots the opening of the path that leads off the side of the main road. Here, the ground is not cobbled. Apparently few choose to travel through Falkreath's mountains. He was not present at Odahviing's fall, but surely his second-in-command must have felt the shattering of time when he had been exiled by the Scroll. That the scarlet Dovah stayed on to fight and die beneath these skies is not lost on Alduin. It must have taken many devotees and a great deal of determination to bring the Dovah's body up to be buried upon the snowy mountains that he loved and from which he had taken his name. Or had Odahviing fallen in battle upon those heights? Had the humans brought him down or had one of the winged traitors aided them?

More importantly, what will they say to each other? They will not meet as he intended, and though Alduin still thinks of himself as the rightful god over all Dov kind, he is more than aware of how Odahviing will view him.

'Diminished. Weakened.' It is strength that masters a dragon, that commands loyalty. Odahviing will not think a human, even one whose body he inhabits, capable of such might. 'Assailable.'

He will be challenged. There cannot be any other way.

There are no torches that light the outpost set up over the path. But he sees the bandits all the same, hears the audible click of a trapdoor being released, leaps well to the side and is racing up the path even as the heavy stones clatter down the rough dirt road. Arrows whine overhead as they fly past him or strike ground he has yet to cover. The archer is fast to draw but not a good shot at all. The bandit that meets him at the bottom of the steps strikes first. It is his only blow and it never lands on Alduin's arm or breaks it, as the bandit intended. Instead, the steel mace bashes a wall of flowing light, sinks in before stopping and Alduin sees dismay writing itself on the man's face. He waits until the bandit pulls back, counts the seconds.

One. Two. On the third count, Alduin drops the ward and goes in for the kill. An arrow strikes his metal clad thigh. So, the archer requires light to see his targets. While his subconscious processes that useful bit of information, he is busy sinking his sword into the other's throat. The flesh is soft, there are no bones and it feels as smooth as dipping the blade in water. Hot droplets splatter through the air, mingling with the eerie glow that marks the successful drawing of blood. Alduin leaves the dying bandit to writhe in a growing crimson pool as he moves on to his next kill.

The archer is panicking, the smell of his fear rank and heavy on the wind. Shaking hands nock an arrow to the bow when he realises that Alduin has stopped at the bottom of the steps. His last thought is of how brightly those strange amber eyes shine in the dark, and that there is something inhuman about this opponent.

A single Shout shatters the night. Somewhere behind a fortress of stone carved by wind, rain and time, an Ancient dragon stirs on a Word Wall before tucking its massive head back down and sinking back into deep repose. Back at the outpost, a body smashes into the low wall of the platform. Wood and bones break, both give under the force of a dragon's command. The archer is only faintly conscious when he hits the ground headfirst.

It is not the end of the fight. In the distance, he can hear alarmed cries and the ring of weapons being unsheathed. Alduin's nostrils flare as he catches the foul scent the men on the wind. Silently, he melts into shadows of the trees. Then, he begins to hunt.

They are an ill-disciplined lot, rash and unthinking. Brute force and numbers give them their advantage, along with the fact that they usually prey on the unskilled and unprepared. Alduin is neither. Some take the winding path, others slide down the side of the slope and over the rocks and grass. They head right for the trees and into his path. The last bandit never sees the hand that stretches out from the darkness, the one that catches him around the throat and chokes him. His cries are cut off as Alduin twists savagely, breaking his neck.

A second man stands at the rim of the trees, watching as his fellow rogues examine the corpses. He does not hear the faint crunch of the grass behind him until it is too late. Leather and fur prove no barrier to the Nightingale Blade and the man's last thought, as his heart beats in vain around the metal that perforates it, is that he ought to have invested in a set of steel armour.

As expected, his latest kill has yet to hit the ground when the remaining four let out bloodcurdling battle cries and converge on him. Alduin waits, sword ready by his side. Then he inhales, feels his lungs expand with air and an ancient power these creatures could not hope to comprehend. It roils in his being, gathers at the base of his belly, smoulders in his throat. And when they are close enough, it explodes from his mouth, a voice transformed into smoke and fire that lights up the night like a second sun. His roar drowns out their screams even as they fall back, buffeted by the force of the Shout as it peels the skin from their flesh and burns the life from their bodies.

When he is done, most of them lie dead on the ground. But a pathetic whimper is heard and Alduin realises that one man is still breathing despite being reduced to little more than a charred husk. It is an act of mercy when he stabs the bandit, a quick clean strike that ends the latter's life. A question flits through his mind, whether he would have done this in the past, and then it vanishes just as swiftly. He has more pressing matters to attend to, such as getting up that mountain, and surviving a dragon.

Hours later, he makes it past the halfway point. Up here, the air is so cold that the rain turns to ice before it touches the ground. Frostbitten and brittle, most of the plants that rise from the frozen soil are bereft of leaves, their stems like skeletal fingers outstretched to the sky in a silent plea or curse. The only exception is a strange specimen whose leaves are more silver-white than green and whose fruit are no larger than teardrops. Though the night is dark, these glow ruby red, rich as blood. Not content to simply batter him with sheer force and cold, the wind resorts to teasing as well, blowing snow over the blackened path, obscuring and revealing by turns.

A glance over the edge reveals how high he has climbed since he slaughtered the bandits. Mists shroud the shadowed greenery below and the trees that are visible have become so small that he can measure them with his thumb and forefinger. A particularly strong gust pushes him a step to the side and Alduin is never more aware of the absence of his wings, of the great danger heights pose to this fragile form. A particularly steep climb over rocks that bar the way proves treacherous. The heavy Blades armour is more hindrance than help, the metal skidding over smooth sections of stone.

When the ground finally evens out, the burning ache of his muscles overrides the desire to carry on and Alduin has no choice but to rest. Sitting heavily on the cold damp ground, he blinks as the first of the snowfall touches his face, then looks up to see the sky littered with flakes of white that swirl and eddy through the air. Without thinking, he reaches up, pushes off the heavy helmet, and blinks as he feels the unfamiliar tender bite of the flakes on the human skin he wears. The unforgiving wind pulls roughly at his hair and he remembers the times gone by when he perched himself on the steepest, highest mountains simply to enjoy the land where it was wildest. He still finds such places beautiful, but now realises such loveliness hides peril, and this in a way, mars the pleasure he finds in it. It is another reminder that he no longer rules, but may now be ruled. The thought has barely formed when out of the darkness, Alduin thinks he hears laughter. It sounds suspiciously like Sanguine and it is enough to raise all his hackles, to draw out a silent half-snarl, to put him back on his feet as he forges up the steep incline to his right.

Walls of stone line the path and these seem to close in on him at every turn. There are shadows within the shadows that slink along beside him. His heart beats faster and it takes a moment to realise it is fear clawing at him. The wind screeches, howls like some desolate ghost that haunts the barren land and the unearthly crescendo builds with every step he takes. The snowfall becomes a blizzard that wraps itself around him, lashing out at him and in the midst of all that blinding white, Alduin feels a presence. Someone is here with him and is getting closer, is closing in...

He lashes out with the sword and there is a swath of red as it strikes something solid—

"_LOK VAH KOOR!"_

The blizzard crumbles, the winds scatter and everything becomes deathly calm. Clouds part to reveal brilliant stars and Alduin finds himself in the middle of the path, chest heaving as he fights the familiar breathlessness that assails him in the wake of a Shout. His eyes sweep his surroundings repeatedly until he is assured that he is well and truly alone. He notices a strange flower, red with a multitude of tightly clustered petals, beneath the plant with the crimson fruit but thinks no more of it as he trudges past, eyes on the top of the slope which is well within sight.

On one side lie fir trees silvered with cold, on the other lies one of the insurmountably high peaks of the mountain. Dragon blood sings in his veins and he can feel it pulling him, leading him to the burial mound. If he closes his eyes and truly focuses, he can sense the resting place of all the Dov, where their souls sleep unseen in the cages of their bones.

The mound is framed by trees, buried beneath layers of ice and coated with thick snow. Alduin comes to a stop before it. Suddenly, he is gripped with doubt and shame that paralyses. Beneath his feet, he can feel Odahviing's spirit stir. This is no ordinary dragon, this is his right-hand apart from Paarthurnax and Odahviing has never fallen in battle, not to another dragon.

But he must do this. There is no other way. And he is Alduin, still.

"_Odahviing, __ziil gro dovah ulse!"_

The earth rumbles, quakes in response as it starts to give up its wakening load. Around him, the trees shiver, showering the ground with a rain of snow even as ice cracks and sheds itself from the dragon mound. Rising from the grave like tongues of black, blue and golden fire, magic surges and spirals through the air, a seething cauldron of light that pierces the sky as death begins to roll back on itself.

He is Alduin, still.

"_SLEN TIID VO!"_

His roar shakes the mountain. Leaves wilt; snow melts into water as a sphere of blue flame rips a path through the air itself and pierces the seal over the grave.

And in the midst of his triumph, Alduin discovers that he cannot breathe. He falls back, hands at his throat, eyes never leaving the mound that begins to shake as ancient wings and claws begin tearing at it. A feral roar echoes from the ground, the fury of a winged god who finds himself imprisoned beneath the earth.

It has never occurred to him that the life he gives can only be so freely given in his divine form. He retches, lungs shrinking in on themselves as his body screams desperately for air. The world begins to splinter into tiny vivid dots that fade in clusters… Vaguely he realises that the faint thrumming he hears is the beating of his heart…

The mound shatters and a wing, white-boned and massive, claws at the sky. A living skeleton pulls itself from the wreckage of the grave, bare bones grinding together like the gnashing of teeth as the air is filled with burning ash that settles on the dragon, clothing it with flesh and blood once more. Just as he is about to black out, suddenly he draws breath again, gasping as Odahviing comes fully back to life, heralding his resurrection with a vengeful roar that almost shatters Alduin's hearing.

"_Alduin, thuri!"_

A huge, pale scarlet head is thrown up to the heavens, and those gaping jaws are exactly as he remembers them, full of savage rows of glinting white teeth that have torn armies of rebellious Nords to pieces. And because Odahviing is expectantly scanning the skies for his lord, he fails to notice Alduin until the latter gathers his composure and is able to address him.

"_Alok, Odahviing."_

For a moment, the other Dovah freezes. Then, that immense head tilts down, and finds the source of the voice.

"_Tiid boaan."_

Odahviing blinks, then he blinks again. Those huge deadly jaws open and then close. Alduin realises that as a man, he has done what he had never been able to do as a Dovah. He has stunned his second-in-command into silence.

* * *

><p>It lasted for all of two seconds. Then those golden eyes narrowed and Odahviing's neck snaked forward, shoulders and body gathered in a crouch that was all too familiar to him. The Dovah was about to pounce.<p>

Alduin was not so naïve that he did not have his sword drawn and ready, the beginnings of a ward glimmering in his left hand. He was still panting slightly from almost suffocating to death and knew he was far too winded to muster another Shout anytime soon.

Odahviing spoke, and his voice had a low rumble that Alduin was acutely aware his own lacked. As it had been with the other dragon he had faced, nothing made him feel so human as being confronted by another Dovah.

"You would have me believe that you, little mortal, are Alduin, Overlord and the god of Destruction?"

"Do you see anyone else who could have raised you from the dead? And it would be wise to refrain from insulting me."

"I see naught that gives me reason to believe your ridiculous claims. Although your voice is somewhat familiar and there is something about your eyes…" Hypnotic golden orbs looked deeply into his and Alduin met Odahviing's stare without flinching. He knew the other was testing him. A Dovah's gaze was a weapon in its own right. It could enchant, seduce, and even cause a mortal subject to fall thrall to the dragon wielding it. "You are unaffected. This is most interesting. There are not many who may resist the stare of a Dovah."

If there was one thing about Odahviing, it was that he was incessantly curious. It was the only reason why he had not tried to savage Alduin yet. "You lie. Only one Dovah may resist another's gaze. And even then, amidst the Dovah themselves, the lesser must eventually submit to the stronger and turn away. I have not."

It was disconcerting to watch as Odahviing tilted his head from side to side, showing the enormous, wickedly curved horns that spread out from the sides of his head. "Neither have I, little mortal. How do you know this?"

"The last we met, you were neither deaf nor a fool. Do not call me that again. Perhaps though, it would have been better if I had heeded your warning about confronting the humans alone. How fared the battle below the Monahven? It is hard to believe that in the end, you perished while your rival Mirmulnir survived even though I had given you control of the armies in my absence."

Disbelief returned to those huge golden eyes once again and Odahviing shook his head, the pale streak beneath his throat and belly rippling, pale as the snow that crunched beneath his winged claws and the talons of his feet as he shifted. "Only Alduin would know these. Who are you? It is impossible—"

"As you undoubtedly thought when we all felt the Dragon Break, the rending of Time itself, as the mortals used the Scroll against me. Or when the traitorous Nords decimated my armies, if you were alive to have witnessed it. I never knew how many of us fell until I returned. What I fail to comprehend is how you could have let that happen." It was a statement meant as a reminder to Odahviing of the one and only Dovah who had the right to speak to him in such a manner. Instead, it came out as a flat, furiously cold accusation, dripping with insinuations of the other's incompetence.

"You dare rebuke me!" roared the other and this time, there was no mistaking his deadly intent as his lips writhed and pulled back to reveal his teeth even as he lunged, head arched for a downward strike that would pluck Alduin from the ground so that he could shake him at will and fling his broken form back to the earth. "You, who are dressed in the raiment of those who hunted us to extinction!"

The ward flared into existence, a brilliant shield of light that stopped Odahviing's teeth and absorbed some of the force of his blow. Alduin knew it was only some because whatever the ward did not take, his arm was made to suffer and he slid back in the snow, knees and body braced even as the bones in his shoulder felt as though they might come right out of his flesh.

"…Whose arrogance led to the scattering of our forces!" Odahviing snapped again and again, charging the ward and Alduin could feel his arm giving way, could feel the burn of exhaustion setting in even as the magic drained him. "You, who fell before the _humans_—"

The ward dropped, the Nightingale Blade sang in and Odahviing whipped his head back with a thunderous cry. The dark blood that stained those razor fangs and snout were entirely his own.

"You forget yourself," Alduin hissed, fury making him spit out the words, turning them into a curse. "One does not argue with one's betters, let alone strike at them."

Where another might have madly attempted another rush, Odahviing held back and reassessed the man. "Betters? Have you lost your eyes and senses?" The crimson Dovah moved, slowly circling him and Alduin moved as well, keeping the blade between them. "Look at you. You are no Dovah, but a man, a mortal. Is this how you make your much heralded return?"

"It was not the Scroll that did this but the Dovahkiin," Alduin snapped and in those seconds, he truly hated Freyja for bringing him thus low, for bringing him to this moment where he was mocked and humiliated by one who had pledged allegiance and served him loyally. "But now you know, I am Alduin."

* * *

><p>And even then, Odahviing could not quite believe him, although he knew it to be true. The man had passed two tests and divulged detail that only Alduin or his inner circle could have known. It had to be Alduin, for Odahviing lived again. And yet it was not.<p>

The horror of it all might have driven Odahviing away, caused him to take flight and forget the abomination before him if not for the curiosity that overrode all other emotions, no matter how powerfully they surged within him. And just below curiosity, an even older, more familiar desire stirred.

"The Dovahkiin? So he walks the land and he has defeated you." The Dragonborn had done the unthinkable. And the mighty Alduin had been brought low yet again. "How did he do this?"

"She has not vanquished me." Alduin—for there was no other name to call him—stood perfectly still, and Odahviing realised he ought to have seen that from the start. No ordinary human could do that; they always moved, they were incapable of mastering their bodies fully. "And she used a Thu'um crafted from a perversion of our Tongue. It was made by Paarthurnax's rabble."

Ah, so that explained it. It explained a lot, actually. And for the first time since his awakening, Odahviing wondered where the traitor was, whether he survived the race he had thrown in his lot with. He looked out over the cliff and saw lights in the distance. It was a town, a much larger town with buildings that he did not find familiar. That gave him an inkling of how long it had been since his slaying at the hands of the Nords. Already he could sense the difference in the air, in the invisible tides of time that covered the land.

"And you are unable to force her to undo it? That is why you have awakened me, humbling as this must be for you."

A muscle tightened along the side of Alduin's face as he clenched his jaw and lifted his chin arrogantly. So much had changed yet much remained the same. Alduin had never been able to admit it when anyone proved him wrong. Of course, no one had ever said it quite so undiplomatically before, or without copious grovelling. There did not seem to be a need to use either now or ever, thought Odahviing.

"So, where is the Dovahkiin?"

A mirthless smile cracked over Alduin's face; it did nothing to detract from the venom in his gaze. "Think me a fool, Odahviing? I know the Dov, I know you. Were I to give that up you would slay me and then her. That way, you would be Overlord." The smile turned savage. "You reek of ambition."

Odahviing threw his head back and laughed. Powerful wings pounded the air, muscles straining as he leapt up and caught the wind, taking flight. "Actually, therein lies your mistake. I intend to kill her, and then come back for you. So that you will die, knowing you have been twice bested." With that, he soared up and onward, revelled in the sensation of the wind caressing his body, of the billowing of his wings as he mastered the air currents, let flight renew him and wash away the memories of the day he was brought down to the earth. Unable to contain himself, he bellowed his excitement to the stars as he cut a crimson streak through the air while circling the mountain.

From below came an answering roar, strong and defiant. Odahviing angled his wings, dipped slightly to the left even as he looked behind. The Ancient dragon glowed golden against the black sky as it winged its way towards him. Bloodlust boiled in his veins and Odahviing roared out an acceptance of the other's challenge, let fire stream from his jaws as he set the night aflame. He would take this one above the mountain, allow Alduin to witness what he had unleashed, and to watch the fate that awaited one who had once been a god.


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

A/N: Hi everyone! Here's the next chapter. It's more like part two of the previous one but if I had made it one chapter it would have been much too long. Freyja will come back in the next chapter, promise. And that's when the rating thingy might happen; I'm still trying to keep it within the bounds of the current rating. Or I might write two versions and post the more lime-filled version separately. And if you are wondering if it is necessary for the rating to go up, yes it is and those of you who have played A Night to Remember will know why. And last but not least, thank you very much to everyone who reviewed! I was a little worried about that chapter but some of you were very encouraging and I really appreciate your feedback. Someone asked if Lucien Lachance will appear. Honestly, I'm not sure but if there is a chance, of course. We all like the dude and he is uber cool. :) Lari, you put ideas in my head, except that it's Freyja who Dragonrends all the Dov and turns them into her personal army/harem. As for the way I have characterised Odahviing, I think Italian Empress 1985 explained it best. I rewatched the cut scene between Odahviing and the Dovahkiin and came to the same conclusions. As much as I love Odahviing (and yes, he is a sexy beast, dragon or not), he struck me as sneaky and a tad opportunistic but really clever. :) As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**DRAGONREND **

**XXIII.**

…_Say the Words…_

Odahviing hovered above the ground, powerful wings pounding the air and creating a wind that stripped the snow from the frostbitten earth, baring it to the night sky. A proud snarl wreathed his face and Alduin, to his shame, felt afraid of what he knew the other dragon could do to him. This was Odahviing, a legend in his own right and the wiliest of his lieutenants. And just as it had been in his previous encounter with a dragon, he was acutely aware of how human he was.

"Actually, therein lies your mistake. I intend to kill her, and then come back for you."

Fear sparked and gave rise to more fear. Freyja would not be found as long as Sanguine kept her as an amusement. There was hardly more safety in that than being actively hunted by Odahviing. In fact, it might be worse but if Sanguine turned her out in her current addled state, she would be easy pickings for even the weakest of the Dov, not to mention the scarlet hunter.

…_Those are the right Words. Say them…_

There were Words to bring dragons down to earth, to bind them in chains of fear and steal the air from under their wings. But he could not speak them. To do so would make him a traitor of the worst kind. It would put him firmly in the ranks of those whom he still hated with breath-taking virulence. They had taken everything; they had ruined everything. It would be a horrific replay of the day he fell. Alduin opened his mouth and felt the words crumble like dust on his tongue. His heart clenched so violently that it became a tangible ache that yanked at the centre of his being. He had to but he could not and he was doomed and so was Freyja…

"So you will die, knowing you have been twice bested." And with a thunderous clap of wings, Odahviing mounted the air and soared up with dizzying speed. Relief and regret rose and clashed inside him, like the waves of the seas stirred by mighty storms, and Alduin did not know which was greater. He watched as Odahviing flew, felt envy's vicious bite and his heart ached for an entirely different reason.

The triumphs of mastering this strange body, the sweet taste of victory when he had learnt to effectively wield a blade, the quiet elation he felt when he realised he was no longer dependent on the Dragonborn and that he could fend for himself—all that paled tremendously in comparison when he remembered who he had once been to that defiant Dovah who was currently shaking the mountain with the strength of his voice.

He would trade everything to get that back. The strength of conviction behind that simple thought almost brought him to his knees. It lit up the dark spaces inside and made clear to Alduin what he had to do. For a moment, his mind flashed to pale blond hair he had privately likened to the rarest gold and blue eyes that at times were so young yet so old when she could see through him. Then he put them away, together with the fire-lit nights and the sharp, pointed banter that had begun serving as a shield for that nameless something that surged between the Dragonborn and himself.

All that mattered was conquering Odahviing. It was simply one step to taking back what was rightfully his and nothing was going to get in his way. Whatever the cost.

Freyja had spoken sometimes of Nocturnal, of the strange luck that blessed the Nightingales who served her, of the thieves that put themselves in her hands. Perhaps it was the same luck now at work, for out of the darkness came another roar, a challenge in the form of a huge Ancient dragon. Once upon a time, that would have been unthinkable, as unthinkable as twisting a dragon into a man. 'I have done this,' Alduin thought as he watched Odahviing wheel back and take up the gauntlet thrown down. When he had returned, he had not re-established order or rebuilt the hierarchy that had been enforced during his rule. He had simply let the Dov loose upon the land, allowed them to tear it apart before he came to put an end to all things once the Dovahkiin had been dealt with. In truth, he had taken it for granted that it had never changed. Or perhaps he had been so wrapped up in vengeance and destiny that he had not really cared.

Now, as he watched the two dragons clash in mid-air, he knew why they had lost the war. Without the threat and stability of his presence, the dragons had fallen upon each other in a mad bid for power. Such was their nature, such was their weakness.

* * *

><p>"<em>FO!"<em>

Odahviing dived low and felt icy breath ghost through the massive spikes on his back. It did not hurt, and barely stung since he had dodged the other's assault. The Ancient dragon passed over him and Odahviing whipped himself around in a tight circle and gave chase. He did not intend to let the other get far at all. And he was not named Snow-Winged-Hunter for nothing. With the exception of Alduin, Odahviing had been the fastest in the air, a master of aerial combat and he had put enough dragons in the ground to earn those honours.

Far below, as they raced towards the mountain peak, he saw the dull bronze of grooved armour and felt hatred churn in his belly. Yes, he had lived to see the decimation of their forces, had seen the destruction of his own personal cult worshippers by the invading Nords who poured into the mountains and razed the dragon palaces to the ground. Broken bodies, tortured screams, smoke from the highest peaks that burned with wild fire the Nords set to flush them out…

Then had come the Akaviri, the Dragonguard. Dragon hunters, they named themselves. He had thought the Nords persistent and unmoving as stone in their quest to remove the dragons from power, although they reserved the most violent acts of retribution for the Dragon Priests they had managed to capture. But when it came to the Dragonguard, the Nords paled in comparison. The former were like the worst hunting hounds. He had been forced to flee hither and thither through a land that had once bowed down to his kind and it had been difficult to find a place wild and remote enough to hide him from prying eyes and rumours that inevitably brought the foreign warriors with their savage curved swords and thirst for blood. Those swords that could rip through dragon scales, those warriors that would endure the hottest of flames even as they hacked at his wings and tore them apart…

He remembered a particular one who had hunted him persistently, who had been there at his fall. That man had once sworn that he would cut Odahviing's heart from his body as a prize—

With a start, Odahviing realised he was almost upon the other dragon and that they were nearing the mountain. Perfect. He had the foolish one exactly where he wanted him. 'Watch well, oh Alduin _thuri_,' Odahviing thought scornfully. While he could not begin to imagine what it must be like for Alduin to be trapped in that vastly inferior human body, he knew that the former Dovah had to be torn apart with longing at the aerial display before his eyes. Only those who had once flown could fully understand the agony of falling.

Folding in his wings, Odahviing angled his body and let himself drop like a stone from the sky, talons outstretched, mouth opened and he could feel the cold air whistle past the rows of bared fangs.

Too late, the other realised what he was about and tried desperately to escape in a flurry of wings. 'Young and inexperienced,' the scarlet Dovah gloated as the thrill of the hunt sparked like lightning in his veins. 'An easy kill.'

At the last minute, the Ancient dragon spun, snarling and biting even as he fought to keep himself aloft and Odahviing off his back. It did not work. With a resounding clash, both dragons met in mid air and Odahviing felt a fiery burn as the other's talons raked gashes in his side even as he sank both sets of claws into the latter's belly, where the softer scales proved no protection against them. The unnamed one screamed and curved his head forward in a strike only for Odahviing to unfurl his wing and bat it aside with a vicious blow. Seizing the opening, Odahviing lunged for the vulnerable spot just below the Dovah's head, clamped his jaws around the other's neck and shook him even as he ground his teeth into the wound and tasted the blood that gushed from torn flesh, felt his victim's body jerk and thrash even as a fearful scream split the air.

Golden wings faltered and both of them began to plummet to earth. And rushing up to meet them was the silvery peak of the mountain, older than even he was and as great as his desire to slay this one whose life he held in both tooth and talon. Odahviing clung on, unheeding of the massive wings that battered him even as he slowly tore the Ancient dragon open as they fell from the stars. Closer, closer…White loomed in the periphery of his vision. The Ancient one kicked desperately and Odahviing lifted his wings in time to prevent a blow that would have ripped his left wing open from shoulder to talon. They unfurled against the rush of the wind and his fall was arrested so abruptly that he had less than seconds to release the dragon from his death grip. Beating his wings steadily, Odahviing watched, cold eyes gleaming gold as the dragon wailed, a rain of blood falling in his wake.

When the Dovah struck its side, the peak actually seemed to shiver but it held and it was the dragon that broke, whose roar was silenced as it tumbled down the cruel, jagged face of the cliff, a shower of snow and loose boulders collapsing on the misshapen, huddled body that rolled to a standstill upon the path that lay at the base of the peak. Eyes flickered slightly, jaws cracked open even as a bloodied tongue slid out between them to rest on the cold, cold ground. A great sigh went up into the night and the Ancient dragon breathed its last.

And Odahviing came swooping in, victorious, and claimed the soul that was beginning to rise from dragon bones. Perched like a great shadow over his kill, he inhaled, gloried and shivered at the sensation of new life settling in his flesh, at the flowering of memory and knowledge, at the complete and utter possession of all that another had once been. There was nothing like it in all the worlds.

Then he looked up and saw Alduin who stood beneath the trees, watching.

"I have changed my mind," Odahviing growled softly, stepping past white bones. His talons stained the ground red. "I think I will kill you now." Alduin never moved, except to adjust his grasp on the sword and Odahviing remembered that not all the blood on his jaws belonged to the dead dragon. The wound hurt, now that he focused on it. Somehow, his former lord had learnt to become a skilled swordsman and it would be tiresome to take him in a battle on the ground. 'And far less entertaining.' His tongue flickered past his lips; he could almost taste Alduin's soul and for a brief moment, he wondered what powers it would grant him.

With a thunderous clap, Odahviing spread his wings, legs crouched for a leap into the air. Then he noticed Alduin move, saw a curve to his shoulders, an arch to his back that seemed vaguely familiar. It was not until he saw the former's mouth open and the air before him glistening, throbbing with gathering magic that he realised Alduin was about to use a Thu'um.

Even then he could have flown but an unquenchable urge to test his Thu'um against Alduin's seized him in an unbreakable grip. He had thought the ability to Shout would have been lost to the former dragon in his current shameful state. Odahviing inhaled, snapped open his great maw as he braced his wings on the ground and felt the heat of fire rise in his throat as it waited for him to give it life.

"_YOL TOOR SHUL!"_

"_JOOR ZAH FRUL!"_

Flames swam around Alduin and Odahviing could smell singed flesh but he had no time to savour it for an explosion of light cut through the fiery blast that poured from his jaws. His eyes widened, and for a moment, Odahviing wondered what manner of strange Thu'um Alduin had unleashed. The Words made no sense…

Then the light reached him and Odahviing knew at that moment what Alduin had cast. It was death. The red dragon screamed.

_The strength in his mighty wings shrivelled even as he thrashed madly, trying to escape the dark magic that ensnared him. Odahviing gasped as he felt his muscles wasting away, felt scales slough and drop off, fought to keep the life in his limbs even as it slipped from his body like the rivers into the seas. The stink of rotting flesh filled his nostrils as time closed around him like a vice, squeezing him…there were no hours left and the end of all things had come and he was old and grey before a malevolent void that rose up to blind eyes that could barely see…_

_And the blades were there, a hail of them that buried him beneath a rain of blows and strikes that severed scales from flesh, bone from marrow. No matter how many he threw off, more came to replace those gone and the sky had never looked so blue as it did now when the killers closed in around him, their helmets and glares blotting out the heavens with their darkness and he was dying, dying in pieces for they would not stop like the sword inside his chest and the hand that grasped his beating heart—_

He screamed even as the grip of the Thu'um faded, shreds of its magic floating about him. He screamed because of the onslaught of memories that rushed to the surface for in his mind, Odahviing lived his death once more and learned a new way to die.

And when the nightmare ceased, when the world came back to him and he saw the sweet light of the stars and felt the knife-like cold of the snow that coated his belly, he shuddered in relief and fear. Relief because he yet lived and fear because of the weight on his neck and the sharp point of a sword that pressed against the soft, sensitive flesh which lay just behind the great curved horns that grew from his skull.

"How could you…" he began to speak but the sword dug insistently into his flesh and the pain, along with the very real threat, silenced him.

"Do you yield?" came the question and though the voice itself had changed, there was a silky sibilance in the way he spoke that Odahviing remembered very well. This was Alduin barely restrained, who masked his fury while looking for an excuse to release his rage.

And even then, he hesitated. "You would not slay me." The sound of his voice made him cringe. Terror had reduced it to a bare rasp. "You need me."

The sword drew blood and Odahviing felt the metal drain the life from his flesh. He had felt this before… His gorge rose as his heart, which had barely settled, resumed the wild beating that had possessed it.

"That would be true only if you are of use." The blade went deeper and Odahviing bit down hard to strangle the urge to beg. "And there are more Dov to be found, others who would _submit_." Alduin snarled the last part and Odahviing recognised the command given.

It was either this or death. 'Caught like a bear in a trap.' It was a miserable thought, as miserable and humbling as the choice that he was about to make. "I yield." He forced himself to speak, for Odahviing wanted to live. There would never be another chance like this, never again.

The sword remained, as did the weight of the man upon him.

He realised what Alduin was waiting for. "I yield. Upon Akatosh himself, I swear I yield." No Dovah would trust another and this was the one vow that a dragon would uphold for no one was arrogant and foolish enough to take that name in vain.

A long moment later, the blade lifted from his flesh and he heard it slide into its sheath with a dull ring. "Well met in battle," Odahviing muttered grudgingly, twisting his head to the side so that he could witness, from the corner of his eye, the deeply disconcerting sight of Alduin perched on his neck, one hand resting on the hilt of that black blade, the other firmly grasping one of Odahviing's horns. "You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this…" He searched for the word and found it almost at once. "…Humiliating position." It was not everyday that one shivered in horror before a mere human, or submitted to one. If the Dovahkiin was anything like Alduin, then she was far more formidable than Odahviing had assumed she would be. For even humbled thus, and even though Odahviing still blamed Alduin for that war that had been lost centuries before, he could not deny that truth was truth: Alduin had proven he still had the might to rule. He would have to accept it. Such was their nature, such was their law. "What is it that you require of me?"

The man's face was as inscrutable as the masks that had been gifted to the Dragon Priests. But something of his old arrogance had returned and lay visible in the way he held himself, the tilt of his chin, the way his eyes bore into Odahviing's. "There is a fort, Morvunskar, northeast of this place. It lies near a city named Windhelm. I need you to bring me to it."

"That is all?" Odahviing blurted out when it became apparent Alduin had nothing more to say. "Am I not to assist you in defeating the Dovahkiin? I assume that is where she is."

"I had forgotten your propensity to question and assume," Alduin commented sardonically. "The only service you will render is to arrive there with all the speed you can muster."

Odahviing resisted the urge to bristle, roll his eyes or snort. Or to do all three. 'So much for a glorious victory or engaging in glorious service,' he thought sourly. If Alduin had called upon him in battle, it would be worth something, and it would go some way in helping him to get back into the former's good graces, which would be a good thing indeed if he managed to return to his Dovah form. Instead, he had been resurrected to become a glorified horse, one with wings. "I know not where Morvunskar lies, nor the city of Windhelm. This land is much changed—"

"That I know, neither did I expect that you would have knowledge of these places. They grew while we were away." A faraway look stole into Alduin's eyes before vanishing into those golden depths. "The fort lies northeast of the Monahven. Have a care to avoid coming too close to the mountain though. I have yet to encounter Paarthurnax but I learned that his disciples now inhabit what was once mine."

Because he had been in Alduin's council, Odahviing had known about the Nords' ability to wield the Thu'um. It did not take very much for him to put the pieces together and realise that the terrible Words Alduin had spoken must have come from the humans Paarthurnax had taught. Even now the Thu'um would not form on his tongue though he clearly recalled the Words. Odahviing did not care where or when Alduin had learnt that corrupted Thu'um, whether it was the result of his fateful skirmish the day he had fallen or whether it was born from an encounter with the Dovahkiin. He was going to presume that any human Paarthurnax had contact with knew it and hence, he vowed to keep his distance from the Monahven. It would be a very different story though, if he were to meet that old traitor in the wilds where there would be no human allies to help him…

* * *

><p>In spite of his wishes, he had been obliged to sit upon Odahviing though he would have much preferred to stand. Alduin felt the powerful muscles of the scarlet Dovah bunch even through the metal of the Blades armour. Keeping a firm grasp with both hands on Odahviing's horns, he listened to the sound of enormous wings that beat the air, tried to ignore his jealousy as well as the excitement of being able to take flight once more even if, like one crippled, he had to rely on Odahviing for it. It had been an age since he had flown the skies of Keizaal…<p>

Even though he had had to resort to the one method he had been trying to avoid. Alduin tasted bile at the back of his throat as he remembered how Odahviing had screamed and recoiled as the Thu'um took hold of him and in that split second he had seen his own image superimposed over the other dragon. Gormlaith Golden-Hilt's wretched laughter had filled his ears, mocking him once more across the ages.

'No matter, it was worth it. It was justified.' Ruthlessly, he quelled the riot of emotions, forcing himself to be still even as the earth dropped away from beneath his feet and rapidly shrunk as Odahviing gained the sky which had visibly lightened to shades of deep blue. Dawn would be here within hours. By then, he would be at Morvunskar taking back what was his and hopefully, he would be able to put his sword in Sanguine's gut while he was at it.


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hi everyone, here's the new chapter. Thank you very much for all your amazing and wonderful comments. You have been so very kind and I really appreciate it. It's always an inspiration and reminder for me to keep working at this story. A special shout-out to those who gave comments on the chapters with Odahviing. I have read an exceptional portrayal of him in 'Winged Snow Hunter' on the kinkmeme (there, that's my guilty pleasure) and that was the bar that was always on my mind while I was writing. Tarumon, the link was still not working but I tracked the picture down and wow, she is pretty and thanks for sharing. Hoshigumo, thank you and thank you for saying what you did. Vablatzky! It was great to hear from you, especially now that you've converted to Team Loki/Hiddleston. We can submit together with HereLies. :P Special thanks to Italian Empress 1985 for advice about the rated content. There's some adult type action here but I don't think it warrants an M. I'll let you read and decide. It did not happen the way it did in my head because the Muse hijacked it. Also, just to mention that the Dragonborn is accused by Senna of fondling the statues in the temple, depending on which option you select. Apparently Sanguine's brew brings out that which is repressed, or so I feel. Some references made to the Skyrim trailer, Labyrinth, and The Red Necklace. Also, updates may be slower in the future because I have a huge project to work on which is due end of the year so please be patient with me. Above all, I hope you enjoy this. _

**DRAGONREND **

**XXIV.**

The fort was infested with mages. Angry, hysterical mages who were too panicked and full of themselves to do the one sensible thing when a dragon attacked: head into the fort and hunker down until the storm passed.

A Dovah could easily level a village full of huts constructed of wood and hay, even stone. But not even an enraged dragon would try to raze a stone fortress to the ground. Everything in sight might be burned to the ground but stone was resistant to fire and unless the dragon determinedly and religiously breathed flames for days on end, the structure was unlikely to fall. And in spite of their mighty strength, the Dov knew better than to physically attempt to batter down large stone structures. 'Not alone, at least. It might not be too much of an obstacle were several Dov to attack at once,' Alduin thought as he surveyed the fortress appraisingly from a safe distance while Odahviing swooped down and rained down flames from on high. Returning blasts of frost, and lightning were easily dodged and Odahviing's roar was laced with mocking laughter as he picked off the mages.

Eventually, the sounds of the conflict faded and all that remained were the crackling flames that danced merrily on the charred bodies and the wooden remnants of a bridge, along the smoke that slowly writhed up from the ground to the sky. Odahviing landed on the edge of one wall, beating his wings in triumph before surveying the damage he had wrought with visibly pleased and somewhat malicious eyes. After all, they had hardly began approaching the fort when the overzealous mages had attempted to shoot them out of the sky. The magic-wielders had issued a challenge to a superior force they could not hope to repel and when the truth finally dawned, it dawned in fire.

As Alduin picked his way past the bodies and made his way up the stairs, he was aware of Odahviing's keen gaze following his every step. When he was level with the dragon, he paused and Odahviing respectfully lowered his neck so that they could converse face to face. Alduin smirked inwardly; he had certainly brought his second-in-command to heel and now Odahviing feared him for different reasons.

"I will call you when I have need of you. Until then, you are free to roam this land again," he ordered. A thought occurred to him then and Alduin swallowed his usual instruction about causing as much chaos as possible. Odahviing hardly needed telling where that was concerned, he reasoned. "You may not raze any inns found to the south and west of this fort. The cities are yours for the taking should you desire it."

Odahviing tilted his head, and Alduin almost see him battling with his curiosity before he won the struggle. One did not question Alduin; one simply obeyed. Odahviing did not always follow that creed but he chose to this time, and wisely. "Do you intend to lure the Dovahkiin out?" Odahviing did not bother to hide his obvious curiosity, his gaze straying to the closed door. "Or will you slay her beneath these walls?"

Alduin stared hard at Odahviing, wondering how much of his plans he could reveal to the scarlet hunter. In the end, he decided that his counsel would remain his own. Ideally, Odahviing would bear them to the mountain; it would reduce days of travelling to mere hours. But the Greybeards were Paarthurnax's and the sight of a strange dragon approaching the mountain might cause alarm. It disturbed him, the remembrance of their summons that shook the sky above. They had learnt well and possessed a measure of Power that would overwhelm the weaker Dov. He had no desire to be greeted with hostility, even with the Dragonborn on his side. There was also the slowly growing doubt that Odahviing would docilely accept carrying Freyja to the Monahven. And Freyja, who had been born to slay dragons, who had watched with hungry eyes as he devoured a dragon soul, might have other ideas about how Odahviing might be put to good service.

"She lives until she is no longer of use," he replied curtly. He stepped back then; it was a dismissal and Odahviing knew enough to take his cue. Great wings sent up gusts of ash and smoke, and Alduin fought down the urge to cough as he watched the other ascend to the sky within the span of heartbeats. Flying the skies upon Odahviing's back had both slaked and stoked his thirst, fuelling his determination to recover all that he had lost. But for the price he had yet to pay—

Shaking his head as though it would free him from the troubling thoughts, Alduin unsheathed the Nightingale Blade. The black metal glimmered more than it ought to have; dawn's golden rays barely rimmed the horizon although the stars were paler now. A bird's cry shattered the muted silence, the high throaty call like crystalline drops ringing amidst the ruin. Turning around sharply, he scanned his surroundings, half expecting a hidden mage to burst out from whatever shadow he had concealed himself in. But nothing stirred, save the smoke that weaved itself into the morning sky. Placing a hand on the door, he pushed it open and closed it softly behind him. The smell of mould and damp assailed his nostrils; somewhere, water was dripping. Two braziers burned brightly, casting soft light along with the rows of candles affixed to the rough stonewalls in the otherwise darkened room. A whispered Word revealed the predictable presence of more mages whom Alduin cursed under his breath. Surely they must have heard the sounds of the battle outside. Apparently, Sanguine had sent him to a fort inhabited by mages who were not only stupid but also deaf to boot.

The clanging of metal resonated through the stale air and rising above that was the sound of a voice, loud and male, complaining. "They drink all day and what do I do?"

'You could fall dead on the floor along with your companion,' Alduin thought, feeling mildly disappointed when his wishful thinking failed to come to pass.

"You work the forge." The woman who snapped back sounded nothing less than utterly irate.

Perhaps the two would slay each other and there would be less enemies to fight his way past when he and the Dragonborn made their way out of this godforsaken hovel. If Freyja had recovered her senses, well and good. If not, it would be difficult, to say the least.

Thankfully, between the hammering and squabbling, Alduin managed to sneak down the staircase. There had been several entrances and a sealed door but instinct urged him down this way and he knew well enough to listen. The walk through the bottle-strewn, narrow, winding corridor was a gauntlet he ran successfully, for he surprised nobody and remained undiscovered. At one point someone had come shuffling and muttering down the passage towards him. There was nowhere to run, no place to hide in and Alduin had pressed himself to the wall, hurrying towards the corner so that he could ambush the mage and slit the latter's throat without allowing him to sound the alarm. Then, the footsteps had stopped and the person muttered something unintelligible before heading back in the direction he had come from. Relief, sharp and sweet, ran through Alduin even as he winced at the sounds of someone vomiting in the distance. Just looking at the empty bottles rolling around drew a shudder from him; it was grossly unfair that the mages had not died from overindulging in alcohol. Or the least they could have done was to pass out and let him enter the fort without difficulty.

The last door led to an enormous hall. Moss twined around huge pillars that stretched so high that he had to crane his head back simply to take it all in. Water ran from the ceiling in such quantities that one would have been forgiven for mistaking it for a light rain. Alduin pressed his lips tightly together, wiped away the moisture that had splattered onto his face, and resolutely refused to think about where the liquid had come from before it had landed on his skin. The huge chamber was plunged in a strange mixture of smoke, shadows and wavering pools of light cast by the weak glow of candles. Like the puddles of murky water that filled the uneven recesses of the floor, the walls were a shade of dirty grey, as though the building itself had sickened and taken on a diseased pallor.

And then he saw it. Stairs rose from the ground, and the firelight from the huge braziers gleamed on the bones of enormous skulls that lined the path up to a small separate level. The black hollows where eyes ought to have been seemed to stare at him; those gaping jaws with their jagged teeth were shaped in a gruesome parody of a smile. A mage was seated on a chair next to an enormous chest, slightly slumped over and half asleep, as was evident from the manner in which his head nodded and dropped down to his chest every so often. Apparently, the man could not see the shimmering portal that swelled like an iridescent bubble, a piece of the aquamarine rainbow which so often streaked the night skies brought down to earth and hidden like a forgotten treasure in this miserable, dank corner of Nirn.

The hall led to other rooms apparently, for at the far end he could see a shadowy figure walking back and forth. 'Patrolling,' Alduin thought grimly. The two mages were standing between him and the mystical door that would bring him to the Dragonborn. That could be solved easily enough. Alduin slid further down the steps, crouched next to a shorter stone pillar and focused his gaze on the furthest point that he could make out in the midst of the darkness.

"_Zul Mey Gut."_

Barely louder than a whisper under his breath, he heard the words, muffled and distant, even they burst into existence. "Mortal fools!"

Cries of alarm went up and magic flared in the darkness as flames and lightning danced upon raised hands. The slumbering mage had fairly fallen off his chair and he tripped even as he raced down the stairs to join his comrade. "Is somebody there?" they demanded in strident tones, heading further into the corridor, completely unaware of Alduin who slunk from shadow to shadow as he steadily made his way towards the staircase.

He had taken three steps up when he spotted movement from the corner of his eye and froze. Directly opposite the staircase was a small alcove littered with bookshelves and a table. A chair fell over as the mage sprung to her feet, eyes round and shining in the semi-darkness even as her mouth dropped open in shock at the sight of him. "Hey!"

It occurred to Alduin to use the Thu'um, but the slight burn in his throat had yet to recede. 'Sithis and damnation,' he swore as he raced up the stairs, ducking as he felt the temperature drop and heard the crackle of ice hitting the walls. Wickedly sharp translucent shards struck the ground before him and he slipped as he skidded past them, almost losing his balance on the narrow steps.

"I will end your miserable life!" she shrieked.

At that moment the flames of the braziers whipped violently to the side and went out, plunging the entire area into darkness except for the portal which blazed like a beacon, beckoning him. Alduin had no time to think, let alone hesitate as he plunged into the sphere of light, letting it swallow him whole.

It was a step forward into nothingness. Alduin cursed Sanguine furiously as he fell, throwing his arms up instinctively. When he hit the ground, the Nightingale Blade slid from his grasp and he tasted blood in his mouth; he had bitten his cheek. Alduin cursed Sanguine again, along with whatever blight had spawned the thrice-damned Daedric Prince.

It was several moments before the disorientation passed, before he could open his eyes and rise slowly to his feet. So, he had not been mistaken; there was running water indeed. Twilight seemed to blanket the surroundings but the rushing river, which merrily gambolled over the slick slabs of rock gleamed and sparkled, the froth of its waves amongst the stone a pristine white. Lamps that hung from low beams cast a soft, comforting glow over the pathways and stone arches, and turned the leaves of the trees a rich golden bronze. Strange blue lights shone in the distance, and though they too kept the gloom of the twilight at bay, they did nothing to reveal what lay ahead. The air was so heavy with Oblivion magic that Alduin could have sworn he could almost smell it. So this was Misty Grove. A quick look behind ascertained that the portal had disappeared; all that lay behind was a path charmingly strewn with leaves that led into more shadow. The way in had vanished and if he could not find another way out, he was trapped.

Apprehension flashed through him. This place was not one of the planes of Oblivion but it was clearly a stronghold of Sanguine's. And in his current form, he could not safely say he would be able to defeat the Daedric Prince to secure a safe exit for himself and Freyja. That did not mean that he was about to give up though.

When he finally found it, the Nightingale Blade was perched precariously on the edge of a bank. An inch more and it would have toppled into the river and been carried away. Having the sword firmly in hand brought him some measure of comfort and security as he cautiously made his way over the stone arch. The way forward was quite clear, if the lamps lighting the way were any indication—

"What are you doing here?" An irate voice demanded. Sanguine, out of seeming nothingness, right onto the path and received a blow from Alduin that would have severed both his hands at the wrists, if the wielder's intent had carried through. "Be careful!" the Daedric Prince half-yelped before vanishing and reappearing a safe distance away.

"You invited me, so here I am," Alduin practically snarled. "Where is the Dragonborn?"

"You're early. And tut tut, no running away with the bride now," Sanguine wagged a reproving finger at Alduin before pointing it sharply in the latter's direction as Alduin lunged at him, the Nightingale Blade shining like black flame. But it could not pierce the distance to Sanguine because the air suddenly took on the consistency of thick mud, snagging the sword, weighing it down and repelling even the fiercest blows. To Alduin's infinite frustration, no amount of slashing would tear a gap in it. "Don't work yourself into a lather, lord Alduin. Whatever will the guests say and what kind of impression would you leave on the Dragonborn and her bridegroom?"

That taunt was the absolute last straw. Alduin inhaled sharply and was about to bring all the heat and fire of the sun upon Sanguine when in the distance, the sudden and sharp raucous cawing of crows cut through all other sounds. In that brief moment, the darkness flickered and the lights of the lamps seemed to dim. A wave of wild magic coursed through the air, and the surroundings rippled, the way water did when a stone was tossed into it.

"Damn!" A distant look entered Sanguine's eyes and he cocked his head to the side, listening for something that Alduin could not hear. "Between the two of you, my plans will be ruined. I'll bet she has something to do with your arrival," he growled. "As for the Dragonborn, you can turn this place upside down and you won't find her, I can promise that. Another little bird has flown its cage and I mean to retrieve it, so don't wait around for me. When it's time for the wedding to start, I'll find you." And with that, the Daedric Prince vanished in a flash of shimmering darkness.

Whatever had entered the Misty Grove, its presence was powerful enough to breach any barriers Sanguine had raised. And if it was significant enough to worry him…

"_As a Nightingale I am bound to her service. And because I carry Azura's Star, she marks me as her champion…"_

Freyja's words, spoken in a dark and dank crypt, floated through his memory and Alduin knew then. Either Nocturnal or Azura had arrived, or perhaps even both sisters were here. Sanguine had offended them by snatching what they felt was theirs. Alduin did not believe for a minute that those claims were legitimate; if anything, Freyja belonged to him first and foremost by virtue of the Dovah Sos in her veins and the Dovah Sil that inhabited her flesh. Still, the arrival of the Princes might be a blessing. While they fought amongst themselves, he would steal the Dragonborn away and make sure that she never left his sight for a minute until they ascended the Monahven.

Closing his eyes, he focused and behind the darkness of his lids, he felt the strands of magic interwoven into the fabric of this plane, brushed them aside as he called to the presence of the other dragon that inhabited the realm. And gradually, he felt the ebb and flow of her life force, sensed the disorientation that still held her in its grip, saw the fiery glow of her soul against the deep violet hues of Oblivion enchantments.

He had found her.

However, by the time he arrived she had disappeared. Alduin frowned; she was nearby, he could sense her presence. Blood called to blood and it was impossible that he could have made an error. But the banks of the clear standing pool were empty and the white flowers that dipped their heads into the water from time to time seemed to be mocking him as they danced in the gentle breeze. A swift scan of his surroundings revealed only the shadowed outlines of tall trees that grew so closely together they formed a second canopy against the sky.

As he searched the area, Alduin felt frustration bubble inside him, felt it form a cresting wave that climbed higher with every second that slipped by. It was only a matter of time before Sanguine came back again and as much as it wounded his pride to admit it, Alduin knew that Sanguine would find Freyja first. Either that or he would take her again, and apart from the Thu'um, there was no way to attack the Prince or stop him. That first strike should have crippled Sanguine. Instead, the sword had merely glanced off his gauntlets, and Alduin had had to brace himself against the unexpected impact that travelled all the way up his arm and seemed to shake his very bones. Still, Sanguine had seemed stunned that the blow had even connected, though he had hidden it well. Perhaps Nocturnal was here after all, for it was her blade that he wielded. But if it came down to a fight, Alduin doubted that he would prevail if he had to depend on the sword alone.

"Freyja," he hissed softly. She had to be here, he could scent her on the wind but it danced around him and flowed from all directions, masking her location and maddening him with her presence. "Show yourself." It was meant as an order but somehow sounded almost like a plea.

"As you wish."

And all the hairs on Alduin's neck and arms rose when her breath touched his ear as she seized him and slammed him hard into the trunk of a tree. Stunned, he tasted blood in his mouth yet again. Fingers slid between the gap of his armour and helmet, searching. He was in the act of reaching up to grab her hand when she found what she was looking for and pressed hard on the soft, vulnerable flesh that met beneath his ear and at his jaw.

It was only when he awoke that Alduin realised he had passed out. At least he thought he was awake. It was not every day that he surfaced to consciousness to find the Dragonborn seated on his belly, straddling him while she lightly ran the razor edge of her Elven dagger over his… His breath hitched as the sharp blade caught the collar of his shirt and he smelled the faintest whiff of smoke as she began gently splitting the garment in twain, exposing his skin to the night air.

Sithis and damnation, she had taken his armour. An attempt to reach up and remove her quickly accounted for the growing ache in his shoulders and the reason why he could not feel his fingers: she had bound his hands behind his back and he was lying on them.

As imperceptibly as possible, he tried moving his feet. It was a mistake. Her eyes met his and it was more than mild shock he felt when he noticed how dilated her pupils were, how slanted they had grown with the velvet dark almost swallowing the blue. Warm metal was suddenly pressed against his throat and he could smell a spicy, fruit-filled scent on her breath that could only have come from drink. Along with realisation, his heart sank further in his chest as he recognised just how much trouble he was in.

The Dragonborn was under a spell and she was intoxicated. Metal bit deeply enough into his skin to elicit a light sting while with her free hand, she drew circles over his collarbones with the pad of her index finger. 'Heavily intoxicated,' he corrected helplessly, acutely aware of the unspoken threat to remain still or else. The other thing he was equally aware of, distressingly so, was the effect that Freyja's touch was having on him. As much as he hated being in this position, his body did not seem to mind, not in the least. Alduin would have bemoaned the feebleness of the human form, if he had not been distracted by Freyja's knife and her feather-light touch that danced over skin which suddenly felt far more sensitive than it ordinarily did.

A minute later, his heart crashed against his ribs as Freyja leaned closer and putting her nose to his neck, inhaled deeply. "I can smell her on you," she muttered accusingly, a slight slurring dragging out her words even as her nails scored red lines over his chest, hard enough to make him fight the impulse to wince.

How was that possible? Narri had clung onto him for less than three seconds before he had tossed her to the floor. But looking into those glassy, shining dragon eyes, Alduin had no doubt that Sanguine's spell had something to do with what was happening to Freyja. The uptight and modest Dragonborn he knew had disappeared and in her place was the Dovah in all her unrestrained, predatory glory. The question that needed answering though was why she had tied him up—

"Ouch!" Alduin half yelled when the Dragonborn suddenly snaked forward again and bit him hard on the arch between his neck and shoulder, using enough force to break the skin. The faint but sharp smell of his blood wafted up and Alduin sucked in a hissing breath, every part of his body going rigid when he felt Freyja's tongue skim over the wound. 'By the Aedra, not this…'

This was mating behaviour, a Dovah's way of marking a mate both before and during a joining. When Freyja came to her senses, she would either kill Sanguine or him. Or maybe the both of them. In spite of himself, heat flared low in his belly, forming an insidious knot that seemed to spread and Alduin fought the urge to shiver as she licked him again, probing gently at the punctures on his skin. It had been a long time since he had first begun to feel desire for the Dragonborn and he had managed to hide it so well up until now.

"She'll not touch you again," Freyja ordered as she raised herself up, her expression fiercely possessive.

"She never did," he replied, hating the huskiness in his voice. "Dragonborn, stop—"

She snarled softly and Alduin realised he had made his second mistake. Slender fingers wreathed themselves into his hair and she grabbed a handful, tugging so sharply that his head was yanked back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat.

"Don't lie!" Freyja's hiss was feral even as she loomed over him, leaned down so closely that her breath feathered his lips and all that filled his vision was that savage icy gaze. "You will never permit any other to touch what belongs to me. You are mine, and mine alone." The fingers in his hair tightened and he felt the sting of pain on his scalp. "Do you understand?"

It was a painfully humiliating position to be trapped in. If it had been anyone else, anything else, he would have found a way to fight back. Submission would have been unacceptable, intolerable. Except that this was Freyja, he thought bitterly. She was always the exception, crawling under his skin, turning him inside out… It galled his pride to admit that it was not only the scent of her arousal that was mingling with the tang of his blood, turning the air into a heavy coil that seemed to cage them in. He wanted her but she only lusted for him because of a spell.

The touch of the knife returned and Alduin snapped back to the moment. A Dovah would rather destroy what it wanted than lose or surrender it to another. How well he understood that sentiment, that all consuming passion. "Yes, I do," he murmured.

He knew what his acquiescence would bring. But anticipation was a pale ghost of reality when the blade fell away and he felt her lips cover his. Narri had told him what a kiss was and how it was done but no words could adequately describe what he felt in this moment.

Star fire and song flooded his veins. So incredibly soft. And he was so hungry. This was wrong, this was not what he wanted, not how he wanted it. But he opened his mouth so that he could taste her, trace and map her with each breath he took, with each stroke of their meeting flesh. They drank each other in, frantic as she clasped his face between her palms, the tumble of her hair a halo about them that shut out the world and seared him so, this forbidden precious thing. When she pulled back, he followed for there was nowhere else to go but to bring her back, to bind her down again with a hard ruthless kiss.

Then his hands were freed and though he could barely feel his fingers as the blood rushed back into them, he curled his arms around her, dragging her closer. Alduin growled as he bit down, teeth tugging hard on fair skin and above him, Freyja struggled to get free but she was not going anywhere, not until he tasted the sweet metallic spark on his tongue and put his scent on her, in her—

It was shock that returned some of his senses to him. "No," he whispered thickly, trying to stop her with hands still clumsy from the thousand pinpricks that assailed them. This was not what she would have wanted. He had to end this. "Freyja—"

Oh. Alduin squeezed his eyes closed, clenched his jaw so tightly he ground his teeth together to stop the moan that threatened to rip its way out of his throat.

He had seen her pick locks a few times in Valthume and at Knifepoint Ridge. It had been mildly fascinating, to watch those careful, light fingers which twisted the pick and turned the special blade she used. Those same fingers had unlaced his breeches and slipped inside before he could—

This time, his groan shattered the fractured silence, smothered the faint crunch of grass beneath their bodies as he writhed and she held him down beneath the curtain of night. Against his lips, Freyja's mouth was a dark triumphant curve and Alduin knew himself lost, gave himself up to her quick and wicked hands as they burned each other with kisses while the world fell down around him.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hi everyone, here's the latest chapter. To say I am exhausted is an understatement so I apologise in advance for any errors I didn't catch during my editing process. It was not the easiest chapter to write too and I wish it could be better but this is as good as it gets in my current state. Anyway, it's off to High Hrothgar after this, although I am toying with the idea of another mini-adventure before that. It depends on the Muse and time. Let me know what you think? I make no promises but knowing what you want would help me decide as well. As always, thank you and thank you for the lovely reviews. They were wonderfully reassuring, some were beautifully detailed and all put my worries to rest. HereLies, I think you posted a link but ff net ate it. And Freyja was the one that untied Alduin, once she was sure he wasn't going to run away. :P Italian Empress 1985, I hope things are better now for you. Take care! SarahMayy, Happy Belated Birthday. :) Roguegz, you reviewed every single chapter. Wow and thanks! And last but not least, I hope you enjoy this chapter. _

**DRAGONREND **

**XXV.**

This was turning into more trouble than it was worth. 'Almost,' Sanguine grumbled as he glared at the two Dremora Valynaz whom he had stationed directly outside the prisoner's door. They stiffened and straightened their shoulders, standing at full attention. There would be no more sneaking away this time, not with them standing guard outside the only door of the now heavily enchanted cell.

The man stared mutinously at him from behind the bars, hands clasped loosely on his lap as he slouched on the small bed that furnished the cell. This one had guts, Sanguine admitted grudgingly. And when not on his guard, he showed a delightful inclination towards trickery and debauchery, if the number of women whose charms he had sampled and the number of purses he had emptied were any indication. That odd streak of responsibility and honour could be gradually whittled away, after a hundred years or so of work. "Not that you'd live so long," Sanguine sighed, and delighted in the way the man's heart sped up a notch even though outwardly, he remained as relaxed as ever. "Now to find that other little bird…"

With just a thought, he vanished and reappeared at the same spot where he had left Alduin. Naturally, the former dragon-god was nowhere in sight but Sanguine did not need eyes to see, especially when this was his realm. Dragons had a very unique magical signature to them. All he needed to do tap the heart of Misty Grove and from that centre, from which all power flowed, find a strand that did not fit—

A distant caw was all the warning he got and suddenly, the Daedric Prince of Debauchery found himself assailed by crows. "Zenithar's bloody zealots!" Sanguine cursed as he waved his arms wildly, trying to chase the blighted birds off even as they pecked and scratched him, swooping wildly around in a thick cloud. If he batted one away, there was another screeching menace to replace it. Normally, he fancied himself a good-natured fellow and no one appreciated a good trick better than himself but enough was… "Enough!" he roared, reaching for the dagger that hung at his side. It looked harmless enough and the ignorant Princes sometimes mocked him for its lack of size but only he and Mehrunes Dagon knew that this was the twin to the Kingslayer. And even Sanguine knew not to taunt Dagon about how he had won it, at least not as often as he would have liked to.

Apparently Nocturnal was in on their little secret as well because her flock immediately shot back into the sky, their cries echoing throughout the glade, grating and defiant. They circled overhead, their beady eyes gleaming like black diamonds, the sheen of their wings casting shadows where there ought to be light. Sanguine waved the blade at them and reluctantly, the crows took off. "Hmph, you ought to be a more gracious loser than that," he called out, knowing full well that the Night Mistress would hear him. "And shadows won't hide you forever from me, not even if your sister lends you her powers."

He could have sworn he heard a faint chuckle, low and warm as velvet, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to dwell on Nocturnal's more obvious charms. Although an attempt to sample those delights would definitely result in her attempt to steal his manhood, he thought ruefully. Ah well, it was a loss and hers alone. Nobody knew pleasure like he did. 'Except maybe Dibella.' It had been a long time since they had exchanged tips. Maybe he would rectify that the next time he became bored.

Now that he was unmolested by vicious crows, Sanguine focused his powers once more and within minutes found not just Alduin, but the Dragonborn as well. Azura may have been the mistress of dusk and dawn but not even she could indefinitely maintain the enchanted twilight that had thwarted his initial attempts to locate the Dragonborn, not while they were yet in his realm. Ordinarily, he would have been gloating by now but Sanguine did not want the Dragonborn or the fallen god together, not yet. "Nocturnal and Azura, you wet blanket party spoilers," he muttered angrily as he curled the edges of his magic around his form. She was worse than that stick-in-the-mud Zenithar and with his sticks-up-their-asses followers who went around preaching about the goodness of wasting one's life on hard work and prudence. What profit was there in having all that wealth but no fun? Feh!

By the time he reappeared, Sanguine had worked himself up into a fine temper and he was almost hoping that Alduin would take another swipe at him. He wouldn't kill the man, maybe just fracture a couple of bones so that he could find his good humour again. But the sight that met his eyes made them bulge, slightly, for after all, he had seen and done worse but it looked as though the Dragonborn was doing her old Uncle Sanguine proud after all by staying on top, literally, of the situation. 'Who knew she could be that aggressive.' Sanguine raised his brows and decided that since nothing had actually happened, judging by the fact that both still had most of their clothes on although Freyja was trying her best to rectify that, he could allow them a few more moments before he stepped in.

If Sanguine had been less of a voyeur and more of an empathiser, he would have felt sorry for Alduin who looked extraordinarily tormented and tempted as he pressed his mouth hungrily against the expanse of skin exposed by the Dragonborn's gaping neckline while he restrained her from removing the garment. That earned him an angry growl and a sharp nip on the lips that drew blood. And speaking of blood… Sanguine usually limited his bedtime spying to humans and Daedra but dragon mating had something to say for itself, if those scarlet bite marks on both their necks were any indication of how violent a joining could be. Apparently, even the dragons knew how to have fun. For that, Sanguine instantly demoted Zenithar several rungs down the hierarchy of creatures in existence.

Eventually, Freyja wrestled herself free and she did it by cheating because it was supremely difficult for Alduin to concentrate when she rocked and ground herself against his hips while straddling him. The air practically shivered with the sounds of his shallow, rapid panting. 'That's my girl.' Sanguine beamed his approving gaze at the oblivious Dragonborn whose hand had disappeared down Alduin's pants and when she had turned him into a quivering bundle of nerves, proceeded to try working said pants off. Teasing an unwilling partner into submission was an old trick but given her lack of technique, it was a game she seemed relatively new at. 'Still, no matter. What she lacks in skill, she makes up for with enthusiasm.'

There were going to be bruises on her arms, judging by the whiteness of the knuckles that gripped them. The sound of panting evolved into thick, deep groans that made Sanguine tug slightly at the collar of his armour. 'I suppose inexperience does make everything sweeter and this would count as his first time, of sorts. Although it looks as though someone might have read Dibella's books...Oh, definitely, definitely read _that_ book,' he corrected when Freyja shrugged off Alduin's grip, slid herself down his body to his pelvis and… Long blond hair obscured his view but there was no mistaking what she was doing, not when the man beneath her gave a raw cry as he thrust up so violently that he almost bucked her off him. Someone had obviously made good use of the time she had spent at Dibella's temple in Markarth.

What a pity but he had to stop them now, entertaining as it was. If not, Alduin would end up being the person who had the best time this day and Sanguine intended to reserve that title wholly for himself.

Shedding his cloak of invisibility, Sanguine stepped forward and cleared his throat loudly. "Time's up—"

"_FUS RO DAH!"_

There was no time to think as the force of the Thu'um pummelled him, picked him up off his feet and threw him so hard that he broke two trees before colliding to a stop against a third. It hurt, Sanguine marvelled even as he fought to collect his wildly spinning thoughts. It shouldn't have happened, it was not possible… How in Oblivion did a man in that position sit up so damned quickly and manage to even take aim…

'Luck.'

The thought, so clear that it might as well have been spoken, insinuated itself into his head and Sanguine snarled as he clenched his hands and felt wood snap against his gloves. Nocturnal had bitten off more than she could chew this time; this definitely required a very handsome payback on his part.

Sadly, by the time he composed himself and brushed the twigs and splinters from his armour, Alduin had the Dragonborn and himself on their feet and covered up. Although… "That has to be uncomfortable," Sanguine drawled, eyeing the man's breeches before meeting the latter's livid gaze. "There you are, little Freyja. I was wondering where you'd wandered off to."

The Dragonborn smiled brightly, took a step in his direction and Alduin promptly snatched her up and shoved her behind him. That proved to be a mistake because it left his posterior unguarded and Sanguine's presence seemed not to have put a damper on Freyja's amorousness. The Daedric Prince laughed out loud. "I haven't had so much fun in at least a hundred years and I can safely say the same goes for you," he nodded at Alduin. "We have a wedding to attend though, and we must get moving. But first…"

He snapped his fingers and enjoyed both their startled expressions as their clothes righted themselves. Tears closed up, stitches mended themselves and Freyja's shirt and pants transformed into a sumptuous blue gown with a bodice that was so tight that she threatened to spill out of it. A chain of emeralds was woven into her hair, forming a simple circlet that held the locks in place. To his slight chagrin though, he could not remove the mark from her neck. Most of Alduin's attention was focused on the Dragonborn's bosom, his eyes hot with a black scowl on his face. Predictably, he tried to shield her with his body and ran into the same problem he had faced moments before.

Sanguine rolled his eyes. 'Chivalry, from the World Eater of all things. Or it might be a possessive kind of obsession. All the better to toy with.' Grinning widely, Sanguine snapped his fingers again and when they next materialised, it was in the middle of the aisle. The inn's inhabitants were sprawled comfortably in the pews, drinks in hand and a chorus of whistles rose when they set eyes on the bride who was definitely not blushing as she tried to feel up the man who was keeping her firmly by his side.

At the altar cowered the priest of Mara whom he had borrowed from her temple at Riften. And standing there, flanked by the Dremora guards, dressed resplendently in a set of fine clothes was the bridegroom.

"Lass?"

Freyja's hands stilled and her gaze snapped up. "Brynjolf!" Before Alduin could stop her, she launched herself down the aisle and into the arms that were outstretched to catch her. "Bryn! I didn't think I'd see you again."

And then she kissed him soundly on the mouth and all hell broke loose.

* * *

><p>The kiss was over almost before it began. The damage though, had been done.<p>

She had left his side so swiftly that there had been little time to even think of catching her, let alone attempt the act. Stunned, Alduin watched as Freyja flung herself into the redheaded man's arms, her face wreathed in joyous delight. For a moment, everything turned blank, unravelled. He could not understand. She had kissed him, practically devoured him as she moaned and whimpered in his arms while he held her. She had _touched_ him, marked him as hers and that went beyond the skin. How could she want another? How dare she forget him so soon…

"Lass, what are you doing here?" The man set her back from him. His hand touched her face; his gaze slid over the set of vivid red punctures that adorned her neck. Another Dovah would have read the claim in them but the human was utterly ignorant. Instead, he turned to look at Alduin who was blind to the curiosity in his gaze, but instead saw only the sternness and the fact that the man had shifted his body such that he now stood partially between them.

When the fury came, it manifested itself in a tremendous inhuman growl that resounded through the grove. The guests turned, eyes wide as they clutched their mugs and bottles against their chests as though the latter were shields, shrinking back in their seats and scooting as far from Alduin as they could. The Dremora went for their swords, would have unsheathed them completely had it not been for Sanguine who stopped them with a quick flick of his wrist. The Redguard priest had actually hidden himself behind the altar and was imploring Mara to rescue him from this madness. Freyja's eyes gleamed like beacons and he could see an answering fire in those blue dragon eyes. Unfortunately, the man named Brynjolf did not turn tail and flee, which was precisely what Alduin had wanted.

"Freyja, come here." The order was spoken with biting clarity. It would provoke a response and he was counting on her to react. When he got his hands on her, he would teach her not to betray him again. She took a step towards him but firm hands restrained her. Murder flared in Alduin's eyes. The man did not seem to know what was in the best interests of extending his lifespan because in spite of the additional warning, he set Freyja behind him and to the side before stepping forward to confront Alduin.

"_TIID KLO UL!"_

It was utterly enjoyable to watch the amazement that etched itself on the face of the one named Brynjolf. Somewhere in the distance, Sanguine stood frozen, his mouth partly open as though to protest but it was too late for even the Daedric Prince and his Dremora minions were caught up in the shattered tide of Time which all but froze upon his command. It would be insufficient a duration for making an escape. But it more than sufficed for what he truly intended.

Both men went down in a slow moving tangle of limbs and furious glares as Alduin tackled Brynjolf, driving the latter as far as he could manage from Freyja. They crashed against the altar; too late, Brynjolf reached out a hand to cushion the impact and ended up pulling down the rich ornate cloth along with the candles. As the shrine fell, in slow motion, to the floor, Alduin realised the cloth was catching fire. Still, it did nothing to stop him from drawing back and hitting Brynjolf with all his strength. The man doubled over as Alduin's fist slammed into his midsection. Alduin barely felt the sting of split skin as he drew back and hit Brynjolf in the face.

Around them, Time gathered itself, resurging and as the spell of the Thu'um faded, the furious redheaded man started hitting back. Freyja was shouting at them but for the life of him, Alduin could not make out what she was saying between dodging lightning quick blows and the roaring of his blood in his ears. What he did make out clearly though, even as Brynjolf snarled and punched him hard on the jaw, was Sanguine's laughter.

* * *

><p>The Dragonborn looked visibly distressed, in spite of the pints of enchanted brew he had made her imbibe, and he had to restrain her when she attempted to go to the men to break up the glorious brawl that by now, had chipped the nose off the shrine of Mara, caused half the altar to burn merrily with flames and had the guests on their feet cheering and stomping raucously. The priest had run off screaming and was even now being brought back, still screaming, frogmarched by a grim-looking Dremora who had him firmly by the scruff of his neck.<p>

"What's the problem my dear?" Sanguine purred, resting a massive arm over Freyja's shoulders. "Isn't this better than the fights in the tavern?"

"This isn't right," she muttered. She tried to say more but stopped, frowning as she shook her head slightly. Sanguine looked knowingly at her. The beauty of the enchanted wine was that it not only broke down a person's inhibitions, it suppressed notions of right and wrong as well. The fact that Freyja had not turned on him or done more to stop the two bloodied and bruised men from pummelling each other was testament to its power.

"Don't you love a good tussle?" he teased further. "Oh, that was a good shot. My money's on the thief, although your dragon god isn't doing too badly either. I think I chose the right husband for you. That Hagraven wouldn't have put up a scrap of the fight he's putting up now."

"Marry Brynjolf?" Freyja's mouthed dropped open slightly. Her blue eyes were suddenly the size of saucers.

"Based on the stories you told me, you're awfully fond of the man. And you did say you would let me pick the best partner for you." Red eyes glittered slyly as he watched Freyja's gaze dart from Alduin to Brynjolf even as they knocked over two pews. Each time Alduin tried to use a Shout, the thief struck for his face or dodged, effectively preventing him from using the Thu'um. Nocturnal's agent was one smart man. Then again, he had been largely responsible for grooming and training the Dragonborn when she had been nothing but raw potential. "Or would you like to make that decision?"

After a long moment, Freyja sighed wistfully. "I can't have them both, can I?"

Sanguine threw back his head and laughed. "What a pity so many others have a claim on you. You'd almost be worth the trouble of fighting them all off," he murmured, stroking her pale hair. "Unfortunately my dear, if the marriage is going to be binding, you can only have one. At least when it comes to saying your vows. You can always sneak a little on the side, if you know what I mean."

She sighed again, biting her lip as they watched Alduin and Brynjolf steadily demolish the furniture in a bid to beat the other into the dust. "Freyja sweetheart, sometime soon before one of them expires," Sanguine urged. Actually, neither man was nearing his tether but somewhere out there, Sanguine could sense a gathering presence and knew Nocturnal was becoming unhappy. She had already slipped into this realm several times and there was only so much he could do to keep her out before it turned into a real battle. Marrying her precious pedigreed Dragonborn to a bird-woman would have been harmless but there was a limit to the liberties she would allow him with two of her agents, especially if one of them was sustaining injuries.

"Alright," she finally said, pointing at her chosen husband. "I'll take him."

* * *

><p>The Grove was finally quiet, now that all the guests had gone, along with one ecstatic priest, one very unhappy witness and the wedded couple. Sanguine sighed with quiet satisfaction, leaning back in a huge ornate chair with his booted feet on the table.<p>

At the edge of the light beyond the glowing lamps, shadows flickered, gathering in a growing pool of darkness that swirled and took shape. 'A very lovely shape,' Sanguine noted as he let his eyes run over Nocturnal in a blatant mix of admiration and lust. The deep gold threads of the embroidered cords that held her robes together glittered under the lights and emphasised the way they rode low on her bare hips. Deep emerald was definitely Nocturnal's colour. It complemented those smoky dark eyes and the rich black of her hair, which lay mostly concealed beneath the hood she wore. "I was wondering when you would show up," he drawled. "Join me for a drink?"

Her laugh was short and sharp. "I think not. I have no desire to fall victim to the same fate as my agent." Gracefully, she slipped into a chair that she conjured for herself. High above, winged shadows descended and three huge ravens, the size of small hawks, perched themselves on the high back and arm rests, pinning him with their unblinking stares.

"You should have taught her more about us and our ways. At least the man had the sense not to touch my food and drink."

"Brynjolf has years of experience that Freyja yet lacks. Besides, she left the Guild to its own devices." There was a slight note of reproof there.

"So that was why you let me take her this time," Sanguine murmured. "I should've known."

"And you should also have known better than to take him without legitimate grounds. Especially since I would not put it pass you to know of the discord that lies between them."

Sanguine shrugged and smiled innocently. "Perhaps this marriage will make things better? Sooth the strained relationship, so to speak."

She sniffed dismissively but not inelegantly, at least it seemed that way to Sanguine. While others felt Nocturnal too cool and aloof, Sanguine found her nothing short of fascinating, like a riddle wrapped in mystery that he itched to unwrap. She was always so put together, too put together.

"Their well-being is the last thing you care about. You are only interested in spreading merriment at the expense of others through your pranks." She jabbed a pointed nail at him.

"You wound me. Pranks? The Daedric Lord of Debauchery does not deal in mere pranks."

She crossed her legs and he was too distracted by the way the hem of her skirt rode even higher up to bother with the condescending way she rolled her eyes at him. "Well, I am not the only one whose feathers you ruffled. You snatched a priest of Mara from her temple."

"Outside the temple. So technically, I wasn't on her grounds." Sanguine sipped from the heavy gold goblet he held. "Besides, to quote his very words, he was 'dying for a drink'."

"Only because you inflicted thirst on him and stole all his septims when you 'happened' to meet him in Riften. You are a menace to the humans. Someone should lock you up."

"Well, I never thought you'd be interested."

"Dream on, Sanguine."

"My dearest Nocturnal, I do. Every night, several times a night in fact."

"How predictable. You always want the one you can't have."

Her cool gaze was nothing short of piercing but Sanguine simply flashed a wicked smile at her from over the rim of his cup. "You mean the one I haven't had yet."

"Tell me this entire event was not planned solely to get my attention."

"Well, let's be honest here. I don't always think my decisions through. This may have begun as a minor amusement—I did wonder what you would do if I snatched both your Nightingales—but it wasn't long before I realised it could become more…interesting." It had been Freyja's barely contained jealousy of Narri that had changed his initial plans. "Your Dragonborn is going places. Maybe a little influence from her old Uncle Sanguine could help adjust her course a bit."

"I doubt she will be the slightest bit appreciative when she wakes to find herself caught in the binds of matrimony."

"At least it's not a Hagraven." Sanguine chuckled. "Now that would have been a sight to behold. Her husband though seems fond of her."

"Oh?"

He was not surprised that Nocturnal had missed bits and pieces of the ceremony. He had been so worried that she would interfere that not only had he rushed the priest through the steps, he had cast a huge amount of magic into keeping her as far away from the wedding as he could.

"Right before she passed out, your Dragonborn told him he had the longest eyelashes she had ever seen. I wanted to gag. He smiled." Actually, 'smiled' was a gross overstatement. Still, for a moment, the forbidding, hard expression on his face had softened and the way he folded her in his arms, when the brew finally got the best of her, could only have been described as protective.

"Hmm. I always knew those two were worth watching."

"I fully agree. See, we do have something in common after all."

"You wish."

"Speaking of wishes, I'd like to have the Sanguine Rose back."

For the first time that evening, Nocturnal smiled. "I thought you promised that to my Dragonborn if she partook of your brew."

"I promised her that if she agreed to a drinking competition, which she never did. So it's not hers and neither is it yours."

"What makes you think I have it?" Nocturnal demurred.

"Oh, I don't know. But if you want to play finders keepers, I'm all for it. I do so love keys, especially the kind that let you into magical realms and pick enchanted locks."

The only indication that she was furious were the shadows that crawled and swam as they dimmed the lights, eating up the glow and for a moment, all the stars seemed to wink out of existence. Then, everything went back to normal as Nocturnal regained her composure.

"Well played," she said quietly and not without genuine admiration. "I could say that I would give you back your not-quite-holy staff but nothing is ever so simple with you. What do you have in mind?"

With ill-concealed glee, he snapped his fingers and two mugs made of the finest carved black ebony appeared. "You look like someone who can hold their liquor. How about a friendly contest to win a key?"

The look on Nocturnal's face was priceless. Oh yes, it would be a night to remember indeed.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Adding this here because some clarification is required. And since this is the end of the chapter, I'm not spoiling anything. In earlier chapters, Freyja has a thing for Alduin's eyelashes. So yup, she chose him._


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hi everyone, I am back and I meant to post this on the last day of 2012. But the first day of 2013 is good too. :) My big project is in its final stages so updates may be a little slower than the norm but rest assured that they will be coming. I am really tired though and I apologise in advance for any mistakes in this chapter. I'll clear them up once I get some sleep. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and those of you who were very sweet and left more than one review to encourage me by letting me know you were staying around for the next one. Equally appreciated is the patience from the rest of all of you. It was really encouraging because my life was sucked up by the Gigantic Project and I have had little to no break at all. Saki, I adore long reviews, and I have mentioned before it gives me food for thought and always contributes to the plot in one way or another. So thank you for that. chewin-BuBbLeGuM, I feel the same about your review; it is always a blast to read about how this has changed the game and the perception of Alduin. I really appreciate your comments about Freyja's character development. Laukr, now that is something that did not occur to me. I will seriously consider that. Orifiel, thank you for the thoughtful and constructive reviews! It makes me feel better about that scene in chapt 25. As for the tense changes, I'm sorry to say that I don't have a better reason than my writing gut. Sometimes it just feels right to be writing in that particular tense and I did it again for this chapter (!). I have tried correcting it only for the words to dry up on me. It's a mystery. Italian Empress 1985, Odie and Freyja will meet soon. :) And you were completely right about what was most difficult to write about the last chapter. HereLies, I'm frankly a little nervous because I feel rusty as a writer but I hope this is a right step to take in terms of them developing a better understanding of their situation. _

_Now, I'm going to do something that I just have to get off my chest. Before that, I must thank Kay for posting her review in response to some people who did not bother to check my bio or my author notes for news on updates. I think she succinctly said and implied all I feel so I will leave it at that. But Ophidias, you were truly offensive and patronising. Knowing the definition of a term and knowing how to correctly apply it are not one and the same thing. Figure that out before you insert your foot into your mouth. A little learning is not something you should toss around.  
><em>

_And now that that's over, on to the story. Thanks everyone for reading and I hope you enjoy it. Happy New Year. ^_^  
><em>

**DRAGONREND **

**XXVI.**

Ultimately, Alduin decides as he once more probes at the gag with a tongue that has been rubbed raw, this will not be borne. Ignoring the burn at the back of his throat, he inhales sharply, nostrils flaring as he exhales and waits for the build up of power to settle, to slide back down and diminish. The power of the Thu'um, foiled by something as simple, as insignificant, as base as a piece of_ cloth_. He would not have believed it but after his fifth attempt, he is forced to accept it as a fact. It is enough to make any Dovah weep. Since he is not just any Dovah though, Alduin settles for an elaborate fantasy about eviscerating Sanguine for an eternity. It can be done; he merely needs to figure out how. For while it is one thing to take a dragon's possessions, it is an entirely different matter to bind him hand and foot, and unceremoniously seal his mouth with crude rags in addition to blackmailing him.

For the moment though, revenge on a scale that Sanguine will probably never be able to envision until he exacts it will have to wait. For one, it will require having to shake off this mortal coil and regain his true form. For another, the Daedric Prince of Debauchery is strutting before him and the man known to Freyja as Brynjolf. Alduin has another name for the red-haired Nord, but there is no word for that in the language of the Nords or any other race save for the Dov. The other man is as tightly bound as he is, but without a gag and that makes Alduin resent him even more, fairness be damned. With great satisfaction, he notes the dark swelling around the other's right eye, the cuts on both the upper and lower lips, the bruising to Brynjolf's cheek. He might have fractured the man's ribs, or at least bruised them badly, judging from the careful way the latter is breathing. It is almost enough to ignore his own injuries. If he does not think about it, the pain that seems to coat every part of his person will recede. Eventually. He is still waiting for it to happen.

The two Dremora guards who separated him from Brynjolf before proceeding to truss them up as thoroughly as beasts meant for the slaughter are now supervising the clean up Sanguine has ordered. A quick glance behind assures him that Freyja is still seated on the one and only pew that is left standing. The priest of Mara is in tears; he has managed to find the missing nose but it resists his attempts to reunite it with its face. It seems that Mara will have to remain without a nose for the duration of the wedding ceremony. And speaking of the ceremony…

"So, what say you?"

Large slanted eyes peer into his and perhaps save for the darkness in which he had wandered for an eternity now past, Alduin thinks again that he has never seen such black depths, glinting with a brightness not of this world. Sanguine smiles crookedly, lifts the corner of his mouth and parts his lips enough to allow a glimpse of sharp, jagged teeth.

"Ooh, I forgot. You can't quite speak at the moment. I'll take off the restraint, but you will not use a Shout. The Dragonborn may have chosen you but she's made it quite clear that the idea of marrying him," a clawed finger points at Brynjolf, "is appealing as well."

"I'd rather you'd marry the lass off to me, if it's all the same to you. Since you are so keen on carrying out the ceremony and what with your generous offer…"

Sanguine throws back his head and laughs. Alduin decides that Brynjolf must have a death wish and resolves to grant it to him with all due haste and speed at the first opportunity that he can manage.

"That is a rather nice way of describing it." Sanguine gives Brynjolf a perusing glance. "Still, let's hear what Freyja's chosen one has to say for himself."

Sanguine's deliberate avoidance of his name is not lost on Alduin. It does not occur to him to appreciate it though. The Daedric Prince waves his hand and immediately, the tight gag melts away into nothingness and Alduin instinctively licks his dry lips, all the while glaring bloody murder at Sanguine who gives him a disconcertingly innocent look in return.

"If I…" He clears his throat and swallows, hopes this will smooth the frayed edges and rasp of his voice. "If I do this, you will release the Dragonborn and send us back to the inn."

"Along with every single guest I have borrowed for this occasion," Sanguine adds reprovingly, "don't forget that. I will consider the wedding a repayment for the drink and food that they have taken from my realm. There's no free lunch and all that; one must pay one's dues, so on and so forth."

"Freyja's debt will be completely discharged and you will not attempt any further vile trickery on either her or myself."

"How utterly ungenerous of you to imply otherwise while demanding that I keep to your terms." Sanguine drawled, looking over at Brynjolf as though seeking commiseration. There was none to be found in that clear, calm gaze.

"You do realise that one day, I will repay this." This time, he lowers his voice, drops it to little more than a soft whisper. Sanguine hears every word and his smile deepens. It does not quite reach those dark fathomless eyes.

"I'm counting on it…_ my lord Alduin_." The last part is a soft echo in his mind and since Brynjolf gives no indication of surprise that Freyja is about to be wedded to the god of destruction, Alduin safely assumes that the last part was silent to all around but him.

Ultimately, Alduin reminds himself, this will not be borne. It is merely temporal. Besides, it is necessary. He needs to retrieve the Dragonborn from this damned grove in order for them to continue with the journey to High Hrothgar. Having a husband tagging along would complicate matters immeasurably. Brynjolf looks like he would be trouble and the thought of Freyja kissing him again makes Alduin's head throb with a vengeance. He may not know what he wants to do with Freyja but he certainly knows what he will not permit others to do with her. Therefore, it is in his best interests to marry the woman and be done with it.

He does not entirely understand the concept of marriage or the terms husband and wife though. He has heard the words before, from Eydis and Freyja when he once eavesdropped on a conversation, from a drunk Leontius who was bemoaning his unreturned affections since Eydis was still pining for her missing husband. He has worked out for himself that it is a method that humans use to officially recognise a mate.

It is so entirely absurd that he might have smiled, under different circumstances. A long time ago, Freyja had mentioned mating and themselves in the same sentence and he had been nothing short of horrified. Now though... the moments before Sanguine's untimely arrival flood his memories and the recollection of Freyja's fiercely persuasive seduction force him to suppress the shivers that threaten to run him through. He cares little about his current lack of knowledge regarding this marriage ceremony. It does occur to him that she might be less than happy once the enchantment wears off and she realises what has happened. Still, better that she is bound to him than to a mortal man who might insist she uphold her end of this marriage bargain. He does not intend to force her to do anything. Except maybe stay away from Brynjolf who is looking at her entirely too often when he thinks Alduin does not notice.

"Very well. I will marry the Dragonborn."

Brynjolf looks somewhat alarmed before that calm mask falls back into place. There is a determined glint in his eye that sets Alduin's teeth on edge. Sanguine practically purrs in self-congratulatory satisfaction and snaps his fingers so that the chains around their hands and feet vanish. Brynjolf is then transported to a pew that has replaced its destroyed predecessor, right in the front. The Dremora guard who appears next to him ensures he stays in place. Neither is he permitted to speak to Freyja, who merely beams at him and shoots less than coy glances at Alduin who walks down the aisle towards her, his arrival heralded by drunken raucous cheers and overflowing mugs lifted in the air.

Yes, this situation really is absurd. The priest of Mara stands behind the altar, looking terrified yet indignant. "This is blasphemy," he mutters, not quite under his breath.

"Such defiance. You are a true follower of Mara's. Maybe I should keep you." Sanguine, who has materialised behind Freyja, grins lasciviously. "Such devotion should be rewarded with the knowledge of true pleasure. It's been a long time since my worshippers initiated one so pure and naïve in the ways of hedonism…" The threat is left hanging in the air.

"This wedding… these people are b-being coerced!" The man sputters, all the while turning a curious shade of pale. For with every word, Sanguine's smile grows. "By Mara, I c-cannot in g-good conscience—"

"Shut up and let us be done with it," Alduin interrupts curtly. The last thing he needs is for the priest to pass out from fear. The sooner they escaped, the better. His words have their desired affect. His would-be champion looks suitably insulted and settles down to the task at hand.

"That's the second most sensible thing you have said or done on this entire and eternal evening." Sanguine nods sagely and the affectation is sufficient enough to almost make Alduin roll his eyes. Almost, but not quite, especially since his bride-to-be has sidled up next to him, those pale blue dragon eyes aflame with possessiveness that acutely reminds how she is yet is not herself at this moment. Her busy hands keep his busy and in the end, he settles for holding her around the wrists while he tries to listen to the recital of the priest while keeping one eye on Sanguine and the other on the Dremora guards.

"Let's begin the ceremony." Alduin has heard dying Nord warriors gushing blood from fatal wounds curse him with more enthusiasm and energy than the priest was currently using.

"It was Mara that first gave birth to all of creation and pledged to watch over us as her children."

Alduin opens his mouth, thinks the better of it and promptly closes it. Now is not the time to point out the inaccuracies of what the priest has just said or get involved in a heated religious debate.

"It is from her love of us that we first learn to love one another."

He wonders how anyone can say that with a straight face. The audience he can pardon for not laughing; they are intoxicated and more interested in the contents of their tankards now that Freyja is no longer free to grope him in the sight of all and sundry. Irritatingly, the only faint snort of amusement comes from Brynjolf.

"It is from this love that we learn that life lived alone is no life at all." That line accomplishes what Sanguine failed to. Before he can stop himself, Alduin rolls his eyes. And Brynjolf's snort of amusement evolves into a clear chuckle.

This is the first—and hopefully only—wedding that he has ever attended but even Alduin knows that it has to be an uncommon occurrence for the priest who officiates the wedding to glare at the bridegroom and pronounce him a blasphemous unbeliever.

"I think it's something much simpler, Maramal. It's called cynicism," Brynjolf volunteers helpfully. Even with the yellow hood on, Alduin can see the vein pulsating at the priest's right temple; he hopes it does not burst before the ceremony ends. He is also never going to admit that he finds Brynjolf's statement, not Brynjolf, funny.

"Why you fake Falmerblood elixir swindling—"

Sanguine interrupts at this point. "Why don't we hurry things along and just ask them the questions?" In the distance, Alduin can hear the faint cawing of crows and for one moment, it looks as though the shadows have encroached by just that much on the cosy glow of the lighted lamps.

"I don't think—"

"That that's a suggestion? You are absolutely right; it's not." The Daedric Prince is a picture of languid composure but that last statement had an uncharacteristic, telltale sliver of impatience and sharpness. Sanguine is flustered; something has happened to dampen the Lord of Debauchery's merry mood. He wants Freyja and Alduin married. Immediately.

The priest can apparently take a hint because he does as he is ordered. "Do you agree to be bound together in love now and forever?" The question is blurted out with such haste that Alduin almost misses that last part.

"I do. Now and forever," Freyja promises dreamily.

So his ears had not deceived him after all. Alduin is aghast at how easily the words roll off her tongue. Does she know what forever entails? Of course she does not. She is mortal and frail and completely ignorant of what it means to dwell untouched by Time. It might also be Sanguine's infernal brew causing her to speak such words. Eternity for him on the other hand… he would never be so quick to promise that for anything or anyone. Besides, forever does not exist and has never been applied to this context where the Dov are concerned. Mates may be changed, dragons part when they have satisfied themselves with each other, and if dragons have dismissed the idea of an existence spent bound to one mate alone, what makes these presumptuous mortals think—

Sharp pain in his hand snaps him out of his silent tirade and he realises that Freyja might have punctured the skin of his palm with her nails. That and if she squeezed any tighter, she could cut off circulation to his hand. From behind the Dragonborn, Sanguine glares at him.

"I repeat," the priest frantically says, "do you agree to be bound together, now and forever?"

Brynjolf tries to stand to his feet only to be pulled back down by the Dremora guard. "Stop the wedding. The man obviously can't go through with this. Why don't I take his place?"

"No." The word is not so much said as it is snarled. Once again, the guests start inching backwards in their seats. Someone mutters that replacing the broken pews with new ones is a wasted effort.

"Uhm… is that a 'no' to my question or his?"

Sanguine lets out a longsuffering sigh and makes a wringing action with both his hands, as though he is squeezing a neck. That galvanises the priest into action and he promptly snatches up the glittering gold bands laid out on the table. "Put this on him. Put this on her. Left hand, fourth finger," he snaps when it becomes clear that Alduin does not know where the ring goes. "There, they are married." He buries his head in his hands. "Mara forgive me."

As if on cue, the Dremora guards start clapping and immediately a thunderous cheer swells from the pews and up into the twilight sky above. Freyja's smile is radiant and to Alduin's immense surprise, she lifts his hand and presses her lips to the band that newly encircles his finger. He was steeling himself for nothing short of a full on physical assault, because there is no force of nature like a Dovah claiming its prize, and this unexpected gesture quite literally takes his breath away. He is a fool for hoping this but somewhere inside, between the aspect of the unleashed Dovah and the bewitched brew, Freyja might be there with him.

"Kiss the bride!" someone yells. It comes from the back row but sounds suspiciously like Sanguine. Alduin cannot be sure because he had taken his eyes off the devious being for more than a moment. The rest of the guests take up the chant.

"Return us to the inn now," Alduin shouts over the roar of the crowd. "You gave your word." The worth of which is extremely dubious but it is the only thing he can rely on. Naturally, he keeps that opinion to himself.

"One kiss," Sanguine mouths, holding up his index finger.

When it becomes clear that Sanguine is not going to change his mind, Alduin decides grimly that there is nothing to be done but capitulate. This is one more thing that Sanguine is going to pay dearly for. Nobody puts him on display like this and gets away with it. He shifts his hands up Freyja's forearms, moves her so that he is standing between her and the crowd. He closes his eyes, leans down to her and while the kiss still feels good, it is more perfunctory than anything else, spoiled by the feel of dozens of eyes on them, by the noise and encouragements shouted their way, half of which he understands enough to know are lewd but not enough to be able to fully comprehend what they are suggesting or how such a thing might be done. When he ends the kiss, Freyja continues to cling to his arms but does not protest. If anything she looks… 'Sleepy.' Alduin is deciding if he ought to feel crushed or just relieved when it dawns on him that suddenly, Misty Grove is completely silent.

Freyja sways suddenly against him and he catches her around the waist. "You know, you have the longest eyelashes I have ever seen," she murmurs, almost mumbles against his neck before he feels the entire weight of her body sag against him. He does not know which takes him by surprise more, her comment about his lashes or her passing out in such a sudden fashion.

He turns to the only culprit who could be responsible for this. "Sanguine."

The Daedric Prince puts both hands up and shrugs. "It's not me, it's the brew. Frankly, she drank so much I'm surprised she remained standing for as long as she did."

"Without any assistance from you, I suppose." Alduin's glare is vicious. "Wake her up." A quick glance out the corner of his eye confirms that even Brynjolf has been spirited away. At this moment, even the Nord would have been a welcomed source of aid should Sanguine feel the desire to retain them.

"Only until you were married," Sanguine confesses shamelessly. "She'll come to once the enchantment wears off. You do know that she won't remember a thing, right?" As he expects, he can practically see Alduin's brain furiously working at that comment and bites back a triumphant laugh. Let the great god of destruction make his own way through those muddy waters. At the very least, Mundus will continue to exist while Alduin sorts out this marital mess, which means that Sanguine can continue to hobnob for a little longer with the mortals he finds so entertaining. "Well, it's been my pleasure. But I think it's time for you to go. No fun keeping you locked up in here with the wife."

* * *

><p>The last thing he saw were those wicked dancing eyes and that smile so full of teeth. Darkness swarmed his vision and Alduin wrapped both arms about Freyja, his skin and the fine hairs on them tingling because of the whirlwind of wild magic that swept over them. The ground disappeared and for a moment, they were tumbling through nothingness, free falling and it was ten times worse than when he had fallen through the portal into the grove.<p>

Just when Alduin was mustering up the breath for a Thu'um, the spinning stopped and he landed with a jolt that would have hurt if whatever it was he had fallen on had not been that soft. Opening his eyes, he brushed Freyja's hair from his face and slowly sat up, sliding her carefully to the side. They were on a bed. A very large bed meant for two. On the table facing the bed were their two travelling packs, the surface littered with their drying belongings, including their armour, and more specifically, the armour he thought had been left behind in Misty Grove. Clothes hung on the chairs and even the dressing tables. Apparently, it was not enough to get them married; the Daedric lord of petty tricks would force them to share a room when he returned them to the inn. Perhaps he ought to have been more specific about what "vile trickery" entailed; he had been negotiating with Sanguine, after all. Still, that could be easily rectified once he spoke to Valga about giving him another room.

Freyja was wearing the simple gown that she had been clad in before Sanguine had made off with her. Apart from the room, the only sign of their misadventure were the rings on their hands and the marks on their necks. Alduin looked down at the Dragonborn who was sleeping peacefully, completely dead to the world. Gently, he touched a finger to one golden tendril, pushing it away from her parted lips even as a reluctant smile touched his. Who knew the slayer of dragons snored when sleeping under the influence.

As he sat there looking at her, Alduin thought about how to break the news to Freyja. 'Or perhaps, there is no need to.' Their relationship was already complicated beyond belief and now there was this marriage thrown in, a contract that he was not beholden to since he was rightfully a dragon and a god no less, but which held some appeal because if he did intend to take it seriously, it meant that Freyja was his. Plus, it gave him a nigh unassailable reason to skewer Brynjolf if the latter ever came close to her. Yes, he was being selfish, but there was no such thing as a generous Dovah either, he reasoned. He could give her a vastly watered-down retelling of the events so that her conservative sensibilities would not kill her with the shame he knew she would feel. After all, the woman had gotten herself married to him; by the pantheon of the Nine, she had chosen him! Surely she deserved to know some version of how it had happened.

It was in the midst of wondering how he was going to do that and explain the marks on their necks without sounding as though he had taken advantage of her or that she had assaulted him, that Alduin felt the onset of what was promising to be a terrible headache. He was still hurting from the fight with Brynjolf and Sanguine had done him no favours either with the use of such rough magic. There was also the disturbing but somewhat understandable desire to lie down and rest with the Dragonborn curled up and sleeping next to him. And he was so distracted by all the above that up until that moment, it had not even occurred to him to heal himself. Above all though was the disturbing feeling, one that he was trying his best to bury, that he liked the idea of being recognised as the Dragonborn's legitimate mate. When he was willing to look below the surface, it ceased being about possession, of wanting to hoard Freyja all to himself. It had something to do with the peace that he felt now that she was there with him. It overwhelmed everything else, including his bruises and pains. It was wrapped up with why he had allowed himself to be humbled in Sanguine's wretched realm, why he had surrendered to her, the reason he had fought his desires… because he had been thinking of her and that had gotten in the way of him taking what he wanted.

It was a thought, a realisation formed in the mind that found its way to his lips, one that he whispered silently because it would not be denied. As soon as it was, he wished he could have stopped it, torn it out and flung it over the edges of the world. His hands shook, there was a terrible rapid burning sensation where his heart ought to have been and more than anything, he felt weak. That, more than anything else, was frightening. No, she could never know what had happened. He would take the rings and toss them out into the forests beyond Falkreath. He would start with his.

Or at least, that had been the plan until it became clear that the ring was not coming off. By the time he was forced to concede defeat, Alduin's finger was red and scratched, the wedding band was completely unharmed, and he had cursed Sanguine, Oblivion, daedric forged rings and whatever source that had spawned Sanguine thrice over. In both the dragon tongue and the language of the Nords.

So he would have to tell Freyja after all. For the first time, Alduin considered how much damage he could do to Sanguine if he approached Nocturnal and Azura for a temporary alliance. That vile being had stolen Freyja after all. Surely that warranted some form of revenge. He was so deep in his plots that he almost did not hear the distant roar that penetrated the thick walls.

'Dragon.'

Then he heard another roar. To the mortals, it would sound the same. But he could hear a distinctly different tone, another shape this one gave his words. 'Two dragons.' His mouth was a taut grim line as he cast a quick healing spell, yanked on his armour and strode outside. High above, the sun blazed down, causing the reddish-copper bodies of the ancient predators on high to glitter like living fire and gold even as they cast their shadows on the city below. He had been hoping it would be Blood Dragons or their pale kin, the Frost Dov.

He was going to need some help this time, whether he wanted it or not.

"_OD AH VIING!"_


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: I can't believe this chapter actually got written. After days of coaxing my traumatised Muse to come back to this story and letting her play around with other stories, she suddenly came back today. And I want to announce that my big project is over after three looong months! There's always work but getting that off my back is a huge deal. Once again, thanks to everyone for their patience and for encouraging me to put my work before writing, and for welcoming me back! And as always, thank you for the reviews. I read them, chewed them over and sometimes just looked at them to remind myself that there would be a day when I could start on this story again. You guys kept me going. _

_Elisabeth Hollow: Your comment meant a lot to me especially when I fretted about updates and my dead Muse. HereLies: I can't count the ways in which I love your reviews. You always pick out all the significant details all the time. And Alduin was snarling 'no' at Brynjolf, who has disappeared for the moment but who will definitely be making a longer appearance later. Saki: *L* I am glad the last chapter filled in the wedding scene nicely for you. I did think it would be sort of cheating if I left it out, hence the flashback. Lari: A bear killed Odahviing?! What kind of mods do your bears have? You need to recruit that bear. Vablatzky: It's so lovely to know you are still around. And by all means, reply to reviews if you have to. I was far from annoyed, more like thankful. chewin-BuBbLeGuM: Thank you! I've only ever written for fanfiction. Publishing's tough I think, but maybe, who knows? Anyway, your enthusiastic review certainly made my day and I hope this chapter goes some way to indicating how Freyja will respond. MK: Thanks for trying out this story and letting me know you like it. Point taken about the combat scenes; I've been trying to balance between the adventure, romance and humour elements. I guess the principle would be only if it's necessary to plot? As for your last comment...I'm actually tempted to try that in a separate little ficlet once I wrap up Dragonrend. Kay: Thank you for doing what you do and I am sorry if it became more trouble than it was worth. CyanDiamondIce: Your review definitely made me feel better on days when I thought I wouldn't get my life back, so thanks for that. As for the rings, I was reminded of Hircine's ring and decided, why not for these rings? Sanguine's always reminded me a little of the trickster god figure. There's definitely more mischief in store. The King in White: Thank you for being honest and thoughtful in your review. As for Freyja, her Dark Brotherhood experience will be further explored in the later chapters, particularly the ones building up to High Hrothgar. Let's see if I can convince you. :) But in any case, if you do want to discuss the story development, feel free to PM me. I'm always open to how to get better as a writer. Werk: Ahhh, I thought the same thing too. I took down the pic for a while because I found a drawing that I felt looked like Freyja in my imagination but I'm going to put that picture up again soon. And eventually Alduin will say it, in his own way of course. Era-Age: Oops. That's one of my pet mistakes. I hope you find this chapter as good as the rest. NekoMara: I hope you did your work! Eventually. :) Hellosmallfry: I hope this update makes it in time. _

**DRAGONREND **

**XXVII.**

When I awoke, I discovered that the dull pounding that suffused my skull and ended somewhere just behind my eyes matched the rough shaking that I was being subjected to. "Ugh, my head," I mumbled, and almost wanted to follow that up with a comment about my mouth. My tongue tasted like Ice Wraith essence and felt about as smooth as the rough wet soil that lined the seacoasts of Skyrim.

"She's awake!"

The loud holler pierced my ears and I let out a moan. I was the Dragonborn and I had a dragon soul but I was still human. And apparently hung over. Quite badly hung over. Rolling, I flopped onto my belly, ignoring the hustle and bustle around me. If whoever they were wanted me dead, I would be in the Evergloam already. Or Moonshadow. Or the Void. Sovngarde was an extremely unlikely final destination, barring an intervention from the Aedra or perhaps Talos himself. Somehow, I doubted I had yet to distinguish myself on a scale grand enough to warrant the latter. Besides, this was Dead Man's Drink and Valga ran a tight ship. Nobody fought or drew swords in her tavern. Anybody who disagreed with that policy would find themselves as overnight guests in the local jail.

"Quick, fetch Runil or Zaria! Tell them it's the Dragonborn."

I would have blinked, if I had not had my face buried in the crook of my arm. The hand that had been grasping for an absent pillow to wrap around my head and blockade my ears from the cacophony around me fell still. Was I injured? The last thing I recalled was sweet, spicy lush mead that flowed down my throat as easily as water…

Lifting my head, I cracked open sleep-swollen eyelids and tried to ignore the taste in my mouth. 'Now I remember why I hate getting drunk,' I grimaced. That one time with Brynjolf had scarred me for life and after that, I kept my resolution to stop the moment I felt myself getting lightheaded. Why in Talos' name had I broken it—

_Look, this is my special brew and I guarantee it'll help. Just take a sip. It's the least I could do after opening my mouth and putting my boot in, and still managing to run it off._

"Sam," I mumbled. I could not recall exactly what he was talking about or why he was even there but I recognised that voice all the same.

"What's that, Dragonborn?" A different voice rumbled above me before a helmet covered head appeared at the corner of my eye. As always, it was somewhat disconcerting to see two eyes shining out at me from what looked like a metal face. In some ways, it was like looking at a double of the Dwarven centurions that menaced the ancient Dwemer cities. The first time I had seen one was when I had been knee-deep in water, wrestling a crimson nirnroot free from the soil, unaware that when I had darted past what I had assumed was a golden statue, I had revived a sleeping guardian. My mouth had fallen open in shock that I felt to the roots of my hair, and in accordance with every thieving instinct I possessed, I dropped on my belly into the half-shadows. That was when I realised the machine was neither stupid nor senseless. The steam that scored my new leather cuirass would have melted my skin off if it made contact and in spite of my meagre swimming abilities, I found myself paddling frantically across the darkened pool just to put some distance between me and this strange new foe.

"Where's Sam?" I repeated, scraping my tongue against my teeth in a vain attempt to get rid of the bitterness that coated it.

"Who's that?"

Bracing myself on both forearms, I slowly manoeuvred my knees beneath me and once the heaving in my belly settled—which meant that I was not about to hurl all over myself or the guard—I spoke again. "Sam. Breton, brown hair and eyes, dressed in mage robes. I was drinking with him."

Silence greeted my comment and I turned slightly, wincing at the lamp that was glaring at me from the table while trying to stab out my eyes with the light of its flames. Luckily, most of the guard's bulk was blocking it. "Maybe someone else saw him," I offered.

"Ah, I don't think so. Not that I'm accusing you of lying or anything like that now," the guard demurred hastily, hands slightly up in a defensive gesture. For some reason, the Falkreath guards tiptoed around me more than the guards in any of the other Holds. Maybe it was because every time I was here, they were treated to a dragon slaying exhibition or two. For some reason, Falkreath's dragons were especially fond of hunting me, especially when I was literally in town. "It's just that we toasted you at your wedding celebration and since I was one of those off duty for the evening, I was there the entire time and I don't recall seeing any mages around."

He had lost me somewhere around the mention of a wedding celebration. "Say that again," I croaked.

"There weren't any mages around as far as I could tell."

"No, no." I started to shake my head and then thought the better of it. My stomach had begun heaving again and I was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the alcohol I had consumed. "The other part. The wedding part."

"Wedding celebration," he corrected me. "You came into town and announced that drinks were on the house for all because you'd just gotten hitched."

"I said I had gotten hitched?"

"Well, not in those words of course. I can't remember the exact words either, begging your pardon Dragonborn. I had more than a cup or two of wine and Valga brought out the good stuff since you were paying for everyone…"

The rest of what he said was nothing more than a stream of garbled sound as I squeezed my eyes shut, counted to five and opened them again. Then I reached out and rapped my knuckles on the guard's arm. The chainmail felt real enough. I transferred my hand to the uncovered part of his arm. The solid muscle underneath it felt real too. "This isn't a dream," I mumbled stupidly. Unless Sheogorath had gotten his hands on me. Or was that Vaermina? Oh gods, this could not be happening…

Very gently, the guard prised my hand from his bicep and placed it respectfully on the bed. I did notice though that he rose to his feet and stepped out of arm's reach. "No, it isn't."

As though to confirm his words, the door burst open and another guard, shorter and somewhat thinner than his colleague, came running into the room before skidding to a halt. A crimson bottle toppled from his laden arms and smashed itself to smithereens on the hard stone floor. Usually, I paid no attention to such things but that to me was an omen right there. "My apologies, Dragonborn!" The panting guard quickly unloaded the bottles onto the bed. "Runil and Zaria are too busy to attend to you but they assure me that there must be something here to cure what ails you. I have Stamina potions, Cure Disease potions, Health potions—"

Numbly, I picked up a Stamina potion and downed it in one gulp. Then I took another, just to be on the safe side. The knowledge that I was now a married woman might yet literally floor me, if I was not careful. It was one thing to come to and realise that nobody, myself included, knew anything about me. It was entirely different to wake up and have someone tell me about things I completely did not remember doing at all. Such as getting married. Which meant that I had a husband.

'What manner of man marries an inebriated idiot?' I fumed, suddenly furious. That was the only possible explanation for my actions; I must have been drunk out of my wits. My anger must have shown itself because now, both guards were slowly backing away. "And how in the gods damned Void did I manage to make it all the way from Riften to Falkreath if I were that drunk?" I bit out, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and managing to stand as the potions began to take effect, the cold iciness driving back the remnants of alcohol and nullifying its effects. Both cities were days apart in travel on Shadowmere and that was at a full gallop with hardly any rest in between. By cart it took close to ten days, barring bad weather and bandit raids.

None of anything that had happened thus far was making any sense, and that included the presence of the guards in my room. If I had really stumbled into the Temple of Mara, one of the thieves would have spotted me and Brynjolf would have had me out of there in less time than it would take Vex to pick a novice lock. And now that I could finally take a look around without cowering from the lights, I realised that this room looked nothing at all like the one I had rented. For one thing, it was huge. And then there was the fact that Alduin's belongings were strewn all over the place together with mine. And speaking of Alduin, just where in Oblivion had he been when I decided to marry—

_Sam wiggled his brows and let out a crooked smile that made those brown eyes twinkle with mischief. "__Narri took him downstairs to her room, and… speaking from experience, Narri's very thorough, if you catch my drift."_

If there was anything I would rather have forgotten, it would have been that. For a moment it felt as if I had been kicked by a mammoth. And that was after the giant that owned it clubbed me. "Sithis and damnation," I swore softly, savagely under my breath. Of course Alduin would not be there to watch my back when he was too busy having someone else scratch his. But Narri was here and this was Falkreath. Had Alduin… been with someone else in Riften? Visions of a mystery woman who was fast turning into Haelga clawing at the muscled expense of Alduin's back made my throat go dry and close up. Had I known? Had he even been there in Riften with me? Or had I forgotten?

Dull pain flared as my nails dug through the thin material of the dress and into the skin around my knees; I was doubled over and the sound of my harsh panting filled my ears. The sight of the fat gold band with its winking blood-red gem sitting around my ring finger just made it worse. It was happening again. The blank slates, the yawning gaps that I could not plug, the absence that choked because there were no words to fill it, the sensation of drowning even while I frantically sucked in air because I knew nothing, had no idea where to start looking…

"Dragonborn?"

They did not dare to touch me but the second guard, the one who had returned with the potions, took a step forward, hovering near and that was when I noticed it, the faint scent emanating from his armour and skin.

I first learnt what that smell meant at the Western Watchtower. I also learnt later just outside Riften, and barely days after my initiation into the Guild, that it took both rain and time to wear the worst of that scent away from stone and repaired beams. Eventually, I realised that mead was usually the immediate cure for washing away the aftertaste that would otherwise linger for the better part of an hour.

There was no fire that could compete with dragon fire, which burned and devoured and scorched the way the way it did. And because of that, the smoke left in the wake of such carnage had its own unique scent.

There was a dragon in the city. For a moment, it did not matter that I had lost my memory again and somehow, obtained a husband. There was a dragon that needed to be killed before it burned Falkreath down. Here was something flesh and bone that I could unleash myself on. Pushing down the bile that had been rising at the bottom of my throat, I straightened my spine and grabbed for my armour. "There's a dragon outside and you did not wake me?"

"We tried but it was impossible," the first guard interjected. "We would have thought you dead save for the fact that you still breathed."

A dragon had been outside wreaking havoc and I had slept my way through it. 'No wonder Runil and Zaria couldn't come here.' The bile crept back as I thought about how many people had been slaughtered or injured. Gods, I had promised Lod I would find that dog for him and I had never gotten around to it even once… "Why are the two of you still here? Wait for me outside."

"But—but the Jarl specifically ordered…"

The second guard clammed up when the first grabbed him and hissed rather loudly in his ear, "Two are dead but one got away, remember? Maybe it'll come back."

"Still, we have orders. She's not supposed to—" The sentence ended in a yelp with both guards exiting the room, one being dragged by the other. Then the door was shut and I was left to strap on my armour in privacy.

Three dragons? My head spun even my fingers knotted ties and tightened buckles. I had never fought more than one at a time. As I increased in skill and obtained better armour, the Blood and Frost dragons became easier to slay. But the Ancient dragons were always tough combatants and one wrong move could mean death or devastating injury.

The guards visibly jumped when I swung open the door. They too had their weapons drawn. "My companion, did you see where he went?" I asked, my gaze drifting unwillingly to the stairs that led down to Valga and Narri's living quarters before I tore my eyes away and made for the door. I might have slept through an assault by three dragons but Alduin probably had not. Knowing him, he would have gone out to meet them and the fact that I was alive and unharmed was a great comfort. If the dragons had mauled him, I would have woken up covered in blood and gashes, or worse.

"You mean your husband?"

I froze. And something that had never occurred to me before came roaring to life as a possibility. I was almost afraid to turn around and face the guards. I opened my mouth, heard my voice crack, swallowed, and tried again. "You mean I came to Falkreath with just one man, not two?"

"Well, I don't know about other parts Tamriel," the shorter guard sniffed. "But here in Skyrim, marriage can only take place between two."

I glared at him. Now was not the time to accuse me of the desire to commit bigamy, not that there was ever a good time for that.

The first guard, who was obviously smarter and less sanctimonious, cut in again. "Just one man. About this high," he raised his hand and indicated a height that Alduin would match.

I gulped.

"Tallest chap in the room, come to think of it. With black hair…"

My heart was going to break my ribs if it kept pounding away like that.

"And the strangest eyes. I've never seen anyone with yellow eyes before. Well, not exactly yellow. Sort of gold… like septims. Yeah, that's it. Just like septims."

I might as well just fall on my sword and get it over with. Because when Delphine found out just exactly what I had done with the World-Eater, she was going to kill me. Esbern would probably help her feed my worthless remains to skeevers. Even the Greybeards, who were the epitome of calm and collected, were probably going to have more than just one word to rumble at me when they realised that not only had I failed to destroy the World-Eater, I had used a Thu'um I had absolutely no knowledge of, thereby turning the god of destruction into a human, and then marrying said dragon god-turned-man while drunk. Little wonder that I was the Last Dragonborn. I was spectacularly lacking when compared to my illustrious predecessors and if that trend was anything to go by, it was definitely downhill from here after me. The next Dragonborn would probably end the world without even knowing it. No wonder the Aedra decided that once I was gone, Dragonborns would be an extinct species.

"Dragonborn, you don't look so good..."

I could not be sure which guard spoke up but those words jolted me back to the present. The last time someone had said that, I had ignored it and it was only two days later that I realised the usually pleasant sunlight had become harsh and stinging, and that I was beginning to prefer my dinners and the odd supper with more blood and less meat. It had been sheer luck to stumble upon a shrine of Arkay at the Wayward Pass. I had prayed for a blessing, convinced that I was sick with something but not knowing what. It was only after returning to the Cistern and speaking with Brynjolf that I realised how close to becoming a vampire I had been. The next morning, I had woken up to find a silver and garnet necklace around my neck. Brynjolf had left to complete a job but there was a note on my table chiding me for my inability to sense someone in my room and instructing me to wear that necklace of disease immunity if I ever faced down a vampire again. I still carried that necklace in my pack.

"So where is my…" It was no use. I could not bring myself to say the word. "Where is he?"

As if on cue, both guards looked down at the ground and cleared their throats.

"Well?" I demanded.

"He's ah…" The shorter guard actually scuffed his boot on the ground and tugged at his collar. "He's in jail."

There was a moment of incredulous silence before my shout thoroughly shattered it. "What! You arrested _my_ hus—Aldui—him?" The humiliation of tripping over my own tongue not once but twice only served to fuel my ire.

"He committed crimes against Skyrim and her people!"

"Like what?" The ferocity of my growl startled me and sent the guards skittering back with their swords turned in my direction. What in Talos' name was I thinking? There was absolutely no point in beating up the guards, not when there was a much easier way out. Forcing myself to calm down, I breathed in deeply and endeavoured to wipe the scowl from my face. "I'm with the Guild. How about you look the other way? Does three hundred and fifty septims sound reasonable?"

"Not today it doesn't. The Jarl himself ordered that arrest." The first guard peered over his shield, as though he expected me to spew fire at any moment. I could hardly blame him, since he probably had witnessed me doing such a thing before. Only that it had always been aimed at dragons.

"Five hundred septims."

"Dragonborn, we can't release him."

"Seven hundred. That's my last offer."

"He summoned dragons and burnt down the Jarl's Longhouse! Well, the top half anyway. And the lumber mill is ruined and gods know where we're going to get the wood to rebuild. Not to mention the gravestones that have been completely destroyed and the Hall of the Dead which is completely flattened—"

They had to be mistaken. Alduin could not summon dragons, not as he was. They would never believe that he, a fragile mortal, was their god. I had seen him kill the Ancient dragon with my own eyes. "That's wrong. He would never do that," I insisted flatly. "Very well, I'll speak to the Jarl myself." Even if being near him set my teeth on edge. Siddgeir was a slimy bastard who had toppled his uncle by supporting the Imperials. There was a naked ambitious hunger about him that reminded me a lot of Maven. Once he discovered I was the Dragonborn, he had actually attempted to seduce me. When that failed, he sulked before deciding that persuading me to join the Imperials was the next best thing. And he managed to do all this while getting me to do everything from slaying bandit leaders to fetching his damned Black-Briar Mead for him. If it were not for the fact that Maven would personally get involved, I might have put some poison in his mead. Not enough to kill him, but enough to keep him confined to bed for a week.

Since he was desperate for my favour, I would pretend to give him just that. A man like him would sell his own mother if it would help him crawl a few rungs up the political ladder. And once I got Alduin out of jail, we were never coming by this way again. Or at least, that had been the plan until I stepped out of the inn and saw the small contingent of Imperial guards, all twenty of them with swords and shields drawn. "Am I under arrest too?" And in spite of the thick black smoke that writhed and wreathed the air behind them, the scorched ground, the corpses of dead goats and chickens that littered the pathways, the broken roofs and semi-smashed walls, my voice remained steady and my face impassive while I recoiled inside from the extensive damage to the city and its people who, unsurprisingly, were nowhere to be seen. They were probably hiding indoors, waiting for the next horrific assault.

"By order of the Jarl and Legate Skulnar, lay down your weapon and come with us if you want to live." A thickset, hulking Nord clad in Imperial gear stepped forward. Probably the Captain, I surmised, meeting his stare.

"I have business with the Jarl. I'll sheath my sword and go with you."

Hard brown eyes glared into mine. The light scar at the corner of his lips stretched his mouth into a permanent scowl. "Give up the sword, woman. Or I'll have the pleasure of making you drop it, even if I have to break your hands myself."

"If you think I need the sword to inflict harm, think again. I keep what is mine. And when that happens, you can keep what is yours." My eyes slid down to his neck, lingered there before I met his gaze again. And because there was so much death and terror in the air it was not difficult, perhaps even too easy, to let him see what Titus Mede II had seen when I walked through the doorway of his cabin.

The smell of blood in the air thickened. Somewhere, a sharp keening wail of horror and despair spiralled up to echo amidst the devastated stillness. The evening sun drenched the blackened leaves and blast-withered trees in a deep red glaze that smothered. Then, one by one, the men began to shiver, sweat that had nothing to do with the heat glistening on their arms, running down their necks in cold rivulets.

"Alright, alright, you keep your sword. But draw it and you're a dead woman."

Impressive. Although his face was whiter than even Babette's, the Captain maintained his composure, more or less. I could hardly say the same thing for the two Falkreath guards behind me, or some of the men who still wore blank looks of terror even though the shadow of Sithis had already passed. For a moment I felt an invisible breath caress my temple and in spite of myself, I flinched slightly. The low laugh that followed was unheard by everyone else. It had been a long time since I had called upon the powers gifted to me through service to the Dread Father. There was once a time when I had been his, even more completely than I had been Nocturnal's. This, I never forgot and I knew he never would too.

The short walk to the Jarl's ruined abode seemed more like a trek. In the end, I stopped looking at the damage and focused on the confrontation at hand. For Siddgeir to go from wheedling to ordering my arrest and sending an Imperial contingent to contain me, something must have happened. There was a thought, an awareness that needled the back of my mind but it slipped beyond my grasp whenever I reached for it.

For once, Siddgeir was not slouched on his throne, and neither was Skulnar hiding in his room and poring over maps. Perhaps the fact that the central roof of his Longhouse had been practically torn off had something to do with that. I could see huge gouge marks on the floor and some on the broken stumps of the beams that lay on the ground, partially blocking off the entrance to the lower rooms. The dragons had been here, but not for long. It was the only reason why the lower level of the residence was relatively unharmed, if one discounted the broken remnants of the ceiling that littered the ground, the moth-eaten flags bearing the standard of the Hold now on the ground in shredded ribbons, and the displaced stuffed dear heads with their fractured antlers. And there were lashings of thatching everywhere. In fact, looking up again at the ravaged ceiling, I reckoned a dragon had fallen straight through, flailed around to get its bearings before flying up and tearing a wider exit for itself to accommodate its wingspan.

Skulnar acknowledged my presence by placing a hand on his sword and staring daggers at me. Siddgeir looked significantly less indolent, probably because he was standing since the remains of his throne lay intermingled with wood and straw from the ceiling. In spite of the tight displeasure on his face, there was a triumphant twist to his lips.

"Finally, you arise oh Dragonborn," he sneered.

'Don't take the bait. This is business.' A quick scan of the room revealed no other exit points save for the one I had used to enter and which was now barred by Imperial soldiers. Of course there was always the roof, but I would be shot full of arrows before I made it, even with the training the Thieves Guild and Dark Brotherhood had put me through. "What do you want, Siddgeir? I know this has to be about something I have or know that you want for yourself. That's the only reason why I haven't been thrown into prison or attacked by your men or his," I nodded at Skulnar.

Siddgeir frowned, cocked his head to the side and surveyed me from beneath hooded eyes that were as blue as summer and as hard as the emeralds in the circlet that adorned his brow. Evidently, he decided I was not worth taunting, and that it was better to just get straight to the point. "A long time ago, you stole something from the Empire, something that was originally meant for Jarl Elisif, the true High King of Skyrim."

Godsdamn it. Now I knew what this was about. Once more I cursed the day that I had ever gone to Windhelm, that I had sought out Ulfric on a whim and taken up an assignment that had now returned to plant a firm foot in my behind.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Siddgeir pointed an imperious finger at me. "You will give me the location of the Jagged Crown. Then, and only then, will I spare your life and that of your husband's."


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hey everyone, here's another chapter. It's not my best I think, and it came in bits and pieces which was annoying because I edited it several times. Still, it's a necessary one which will lead to more Alduin/Freyja action. Which means, there is not much of the latter in this chapter, I'm afraid. The dark euphie: Well, even in the game, the Dragonborn always has things happening to them as much as he/she initiates them. So it will be more of a roller-coaster when one has the World Eater tagging along for the ride. MK: *L* Yes, Alduin sucks at defending cities and this will be explained very soon. Cyrus Dragonhunter: Ehm, sorry to disappoint you with regard to the crown. So to compensate for that, I wouldn't say no to the idea of hot Freyja and Alduin action. Just wait for it, wait for it... HereLies: *hides* The conversation is coming, I swear. And thank you for the line about Elisif being queen. I laughed out loud when I read the opening of your review. Saki: I love that metaphor! And thanks for the congrats on the project. It's one thing off a list of accumulating things at work that must be done. I don't know how far this chapter will go to slaking/stoking your thirst but the next one will be meatier in terms of Alduin and Freyja interaction. OnnaMusha: Thanks for the compliment! I'm not sure how publishing original works will go but who knows? I just might one day. ShadowX116: That's what happens when everyone assumes. :) Italian Empress 1985: Hey! Great to hear from you again and I hope all is well with the book editing. Oh there will be spousal squabbles coming up. Trust me. _

**DRAGONREND **

**XXVIII.**

It was amazing, how much detail could flash through a person's mind within the space of seconds. The scribes and minstrels who sang of life that passed before a person's eyes as they stood on the precipice of death were of course liars. Nobody wanted to hear that the blade, whether dull or sharp, heavy as steel or brilliant as cool green glass that flashed like fire in the sun, was all one saw, consumed one's mind as surely as the will to survive, however futile, did.

Usually, when a flood of detail rushed through one's mind, it was because of the knowledge that one had made a terrible mistake and was now going to answer for it. To quote Babette, payback was a bitch. Memory pierced the moment and stepped between Skulnar, Siddgeir and myself.

There, in the half-smashed Longhouse, surrounded and outnumbered by Imperial soldiers, I could practically smell the sweat that foamed on the sides of my flagging mount, hear the crunch of snow beneath leather boots as I hit the ground at a low run, muscles and thighs groaning in protest in spite of the Stamina potions I had imbibed. I could not shoot an arrow to save my life but I could, according to a grudgingly admiring Sapphire, throw a dagger like the best of them and that was how the first bandit who stood guard on the ledge met his end. Using his body to cushion my leap, I felt bones break upon my landing even as I yanked my Elven dagger out of his neck. The guard at the door appeared, large, muscular and armed with a steel battle-axe.

The Thieves Guild leather armour was sturdy but there was no way that it would turn a blow from a weapon like that. 'Pace yourself, lass,' Brynjolf echoed in my head. 'You're quick and fast, and you'll never be as strong as a man. Think.' It occurred to me to simply Shout him into the wall but I had passed an Imperial campsite last night and knew the Empire was probably two steps behind Galmar Stone-Fist who by now, would have discovered that I had slipped away from the group. The morning's blizzard had faded and in this still, cold air, a Thu'um would carry for a good distance and there was no point in announcing that I had barely beaten the powers that would tear Skyrim apart to Korvanjund.

In spite of his size, this new opponent was no slouch and he dodged the dagger I flung at him before remembering that in an open fight, daggers worked best over short distances. I should have waited for him to approach or I ought to have closed the distance first. Darting in, I feinted to the right, drawing the bandit into striking a blow that crushed the ground beneath the axe blade to dust. Before he could lift it again, I flung a fistful of hard snow into his eyes as I launched myself at him, heard and felt the wet, wicked slide of my newly forged Daedric blade enter his flesh and saw through a rib. The bandit's scream was cut off when I smashed the flat of my hand into his throat, a move that Vex had taught me two weeks before. He fell, dragging my blade down with him and I tried not to feel sickened as I kicked his hands from his weapon and pulling my sword free, cut his head off. It was one thing to kill in the fast and furious heat of the moment, and it was another to end a foe that writhed like a wounded animal with his terrified eyes fixed on you.

Blood smeared my cheek as I wiped at the warm spots on my face, and that was when I heard the thunder of hoof beats on the wind. The sounds were coming from two separate directions: the Imperials and the Stormcloaks were here. So much for secrecy, I thought as the iron doors opened to reveal a third bandit. It was time for my backup plan.

"_FUS RO DAH!"_

At this proximity, the Redguard woman did not stand a chance and her fur armour did little to protect her as the Thu'um lifted her up off her feet and smashed her into the roughly hewn stonewall. She was still breathing but deeply unconscious when I checked her pulse. 'Not for long though,' I thought, looking over my shoulder to see the familiar blue-grey of the Stormcloaks and the dull clay-red of the Imperials as they swarmed down the stairs. The first few who reached the ground immediately clashed in battle and over the curses and clanging of swords, a voice rang out and my breath caught in my throat. It was the same voice that set a hail of arrows on a pathetic coward of a thief who was desperate enough to act on the desire to live. From this distance, I could not see her face although the prominent metal plume distinguished her from the rest as she plunged down the steps and cut through the fray. They would be cold though, cold as the day when I had first met her.

"_Forget the list. She goes to the block."_

Those words still visited me in my dreams, although nowadays, it was dragon fire and smoke that filled my unconscious, the sight of leering fixed metal masks atop floating bodies clothed in ragged robes that sent me tumbling over the edge of my bed and onto the hard Cistern floor.

"Legate Rikke," I muttered. Just one more good reason to add to my list of reasons for stealing the Jagged Crown. I hoped she and Galmar Stone-Fist would slaughter each other, although that was unlikely. Both of them knew I was here and if Galmar took some soldiers and came charging after me, Rikke was obliged to do the same, if only to prevent him from taking the Crown. Besides, I needed them alive to deal with the newly awakened and angry Draugr I would be leaving in my wake.

"Shadows hide me," I whispered even as I touched the amulet of Talos, my finger tracing the intricate grooves. If I ever needed protection, it was now as I prepared for my mad dash through this dungeon. Brynjolf had been right to tell me to stay away from politics especially because I was the Dragonborn and I had been a fool to think I knew better. Offering my services to Ulfric had been nothing more than a knee-jerk response to the Empire for almost ending my life. Trying to leave that service after I discovered how the Argonians and Dunmer were forced to live in Windhelm had resulted in unofficial house arrest and plans to have me put the Crown on Ulfric's brow in a public coronation ceremony that was going to take place in spite of my vehement protests to Jorlief. The thought of serving someone who in his own way was as bigoted as the Thalmor who influenced the Empire made my blood run cold. Besides, Ulfric ought to have known better than anyone that a dragon could not be bridled and brought to heel.

Stealing the Crown might be petty vengeance. But nobody was going to force his will on me and get away with it. That I had to fight an ancient god of destruction when I barely knew who I was could be stomached, if only because the fate of Tamriel hung in the balance. Aside from that, my choices would be my own as long as I could help it.

"Dragonborn!" Galmar turned my name into a curse when he saw me standing at the entrance of the ruin. I waited until he broke away from the melee with a small number of soldiers, watched as Rikke barked orders at her soldiers and they too formed a small party that covered her back as she chased after Galmar. When they were close enough, I fled through the doorway and up the steps, staying in the shadows that smothered the gleam of my sword and dagger. 'The Dark Lady's blessing,' Delvin had remarked, slightly round-eyed when he had noticed it during a training session on sneaking. I had no idea whether he was right or whether it was superstition; I did not particularly care actually, as long as it worked for my benefit. Brynjolf would have my head if he knew what I was up to; Mercer would skin me, literally, if he realised that I was breaking the Guild's golden rule of eschewing politics. Which was why, when I survived this, that Jagged Crown was going to the one place where I knew it would remain hidden and untouched.

I would leave the Crown in Arngeir's care.

* * *

><p>"Wouldn't Elisif be the High Queen?"<p>

Apparently, Siddgeir had been expecting the threat to my husband's wellbeing to make me crumble like a poorly made sweet roll because while he did not quite gape, his eyes bulged a little at my question. "What?"

"Elisif. She would be the High Queen because she is a woman. Although Skyrim has never had a High Queen before, I doubt that anyone could honestly insist on keeping the traditional title of High King because well—"

"She is a woman. We get that. Now stop wasting time." Like the soldier that he was, Skulnar cut in bluntly. It would not be a simple reflex action that his hand was resting on the pommel of what I suspected to be an extremely well honed sword either. Soldiers and Jarls made threats; they just did them differently. "Either you tell us who you sold the Crown to or where you have hidden it, or I'll take your husband to the city outskirts covered in goat blood and bind him to a tree while you listen to the wolves tear him apart." At least the Legate did not make false promises about granting us some measure of safety. And I knew who was the more impatient of the two.

The day I let that happen was the day the Daedric Princes invited the Aedra to come take over Oblivion. And while a part of me was still wondering how in the bloody Void did Alduin fail to keep my mouth shut about our marriage and allow me to blurt it out to all and sundry, a larger part, much larger, was seized by a burning rage that Skulnar had the immeasurable gall to speak of torturing my husband. Alduin was insufferably arrogant, obnoxious, demanding and tended to forget that I was his mortal enemy and not a servant plus punching bag for his insults, but he was now mine—even if it was in name only—and nobody was allowed to speak about him like that.

I opened my mouth, closed it when I realised I could not be sure what would come out of it, angry words or dragon fire, fought to arrest my fury for a few seconds and tried not to analyse where this anger was coming from. The less I thought about it, the better. "I'm the Dragonborn and you think it wise to hold me hostage in a city that I have saved time and time again, to speak so lightly of my husband's life, and to accuse me of stealing an artefact that belongs to neither Ulfric nor Elisif?"

Skulnar would have responded but the Jarl beat him to it and although the soldier hid it quickly behind his usual dour expression, his annoyance was visible for a few precious moments. "Dragonborn or not, you have no right to spit in the face of the Empire," Siddgeir, the throne-stealing thief who had deposed his own uncle, intoned righteously. Under any other circumstance, I would have laughed. "When you threw in your lot with Ulfric, you made enemies of us all. Although, you cannot even claim to be allies with the Stormcloaks now because you stabbed that pretender to the throne in the back. So do not claim any moral higher ground here, Dragonborn, not when you've alienated yourself from everyone."

A better Jarl would have found another way to twist my arm and pressure me into cooperating. By publicly declaring me an enemy of the Empire in front of his men, Siddgeir was making it impossible for me to ever return to Falkreath. And given the strange propensity for dragons to appear in this area, it was quite clear that he was placing currying favour with Tullius above the welfare of his people. It was not difficult to foresee either Nazir or Babette making a trip here in the future, even without the use of the Black Sacrament to invoke the Night Mother.

"So what will it be, giving up the Crown or sacrificing your husband to the wolves? Although given your behaviour thus far I would offer my condolences to the poor sod." His thin lips twisted in a malicious grin; his eyes burned as they swept me from head to toe, lingering deliberately on my hips and breasts, and it was then that I knew my rejection of his advances still stung the man. He certainly did not care for me; it was his bruised ego that made him mind the fact that I had taken another as husband. That was what made him provoke me needlessly. Holding my tongue was not a difficult decision to make. It was either that or attempt to do outdo Ulfric's legend by seeing if I could actually Shout Siddgeir to pieces. Thankfully, Skulnar read my silence as refusal and took the next step I had been waiting for.

"Get her husband and take him out to the woods."

I counted the seconds, eyes on the soldiers, letting some of my fury and some fabricated despair shine through as I bit my lip. Not all disguises came in the form of paint and fabric, and time with Gabriella and Babette had schooled me into turning my face into an asset with which I could approach a target, a mask with which I could fade into crowds and not be remembered. "Alright," I burst out as the soldiers neared the door, "I'll tell you where it is." Steel boots continued to hit the floor in spite of my words. "I'll tell you, just stop them!" This time, I clenched my hands and turned, as though I were about to lunge in their direction. Predictably, a row of swords barred my path and I whirled around, fastening my anguished gaze on the Legate. Babette would have been so proud; it was my finest performance to date. I could actually feel the heat of tears burning the backs of my eyes, the fearful twist of my mouth and when I brushed my shaking fingers against the hilt of my sword, Skulnar grunted, bringing the soldiers to a halt.

I had him.

Siddgeir actually looked somewhat disappointed and suspicious that I had capitulated so easily. Now was the time to divide and conquer. I addressed myself only to Skulnar, taking care to shift my body imperceptibly in his direction, a subtle acknowledgement of his authority that neither man could possibly miss. "I have a condition though. I want to tell this to General Tullius himself."

"No—" Siddgeir barked but Skulnar cut him off.

"Explain why."

Both the Jarl and the Legate exchanged quick glares and the silent conversation between them spoke volumes.

"The Stormcloaks are hunting me for the same reason: they want the Crown as badly as you do. But unlike General Tullius, none of them will be able to influence the Thalmor. Perhaps if I did the Empire a service, Skyrim might be a somewhat safer place for me to traverse." As I spoke, I gradually tucked the frightened, desperate wife persona away, slowly relaxing my shoulders, keeping my expression neutral while letting a slight lilt in the cadence of my tone betray a tinge of hope. Skulnar would interpret this as an attempt to mask my true emotional state while recovering my dignity as the Dragonborn. There was also hardly a chance that he would not have noticed my deliberate omission of my husband in that little speech. Granted, I may not have any idea of what had happened the night before but based on what little I could piece together from the guards, I could safely assume that everyone thought I was in love with him, if I had been pleased enough to announce my marriage and buy drinks for all in the city.

It was the thoughtful look on Skulnar's face that made Siddgeir angrier. "You cannot seriously believe her," he hissed, either unaware or uncaring of the fact that he had just openly questioned Skulnar's judgement before it had even been made.

"What she says has been true thus far," Skulnar said calmly. "We have been informed that the Thalmor wish to acquire the Dragonborn for questioning." In other words, he was letting me know that turning me over to Elenwen and her Altmer cronies was another option. Death would be a release when it came, if I ever fell into the clutches of that Mer.

"This may be a trick. By the Eight, the woman is a professional thief!"

"You were the one who pointed out her untenable position in the first place."

Without shifting my head, I glanced up, saw that the sky was now bordering on complete darkness, and as I concentrated, I could feel the lights of Masser and Secunda as they resumed their nightly dance, red and white gleaming against an endless expanse of blackness. 'Moon powers, moon magic.' Moon madness was what I had chosen for myself and it was a challenge not to open the whole channel and unleash the full force of the Ebonmere. Inside my skin, under my flesh and locked in my bones, the soul which I had sold to Nocturnal rippled as the connection to the mystical conduit cracked open by a sliver. Shadows trickled into the room and when I looked, the candle flames burned ebony black and blood red. Angry words faded into the background as the air grew thick, taking on a glazed quality which signalled the presence of a power from Oblivion.

Darkness lined Siddgeir's features, drawing them sharp and taut. His mouth became an angry leer, those thick proud brows turned into angry slashes that stretched to his temples, his back curved into a hunch and in the deceiving dark, his fingers grew spindled and clawed. Skulnar became a hulking shadow, deformed and grotesque as he loomed large in the sudden smallness of the hall. The thick scar that lined his temple down to his mouth grew and writhed like a living thing under the cover of skin as it snaked down and stretched over his neck, growing bulbous veins like tendrils beneath his forehead and neck. The black of his pupils swallowed the grey of his irises before consuming the whites of his eyes. 'Daedric eyes,' I thought, entranced by the illusion weaved by the Nocturnal's powers of subterfuge.

The scrape of metal against sheaths was real enough though. Every muscle in my body went tight as I inhaled and broke the spell, severed the connection. It always reminded me of wading upriver against fast flowing currents. There was a strange burning chill, not unlike the sensation I had experienced when stepping onto the Half Moon platform and for a moment, I felt a pressure grip my shoulders that threatened to send me to my knees. And just as suddenly, everything cleared and lifted. The room stopped shrinking and resumed its normal dimensions; the candles were topped with ordinary yellow flames; Siddgeir and Skulnar no longer appeared like monsters in each other's eyes although both had their weapons drawn and the angry red blotches that spread over their faces and necks betrayed tempers that were barely held in check. Behind me, the Imperial soldiers shifted restlessly and the three Falkreath guards that stood behind the ruined throne had their swords drawn.

"Fine. You can have the woman but the man stays. He will be tried for his crimes against this city and no one, not even the Empire can interfere with the laws of this Hold." Siddgeir glanced down at the dagger in his hand, eyes going slightly wide as though he could not believe what he had done before he sheathed it slowly, making a show of that gesture, making it clear that he was willing to compromise on this much. It was a clever move, for it compelled Skulnar to put his weapon away as well.

Although deception had caused the seed of discord I had planted earlier to flower, it had only ensured that Skulnar would not be spending the night in the Jarl's hospitality. They would have seen in each other an embodiment of their worst fears and that measure of distrust would suffice to put a permanent wedge between them. It did not mean that they would never see eye to eye on certain issues.

As a soldier of the Empire and especially as a Legate, Skulnar would know about taking risks and sacrificing pawns to secure kings and queens. He would not want to alienate Siddgeir so I had to give him something even more important. "You said my husband called down a dragon." Both men turned to stare at me and I felt eyes on my back as well. "It would be useful in battle, would it not? To have the Dragonborn and a student of the Greybeards by one's side."

Siddgeir did not bother to hide his feelings and at that moment I knew that if he could have walked over and stuck his dagger in my heart, he would have. I had done little to earn his rage except see through and outsmart him. But that was precisely the kind of thing that a man like him could not bear. In all honesty, I think Ulfric might have admired my abilities and still tried to win me over. Killing me would have been a last resort, and only if he felt that the inability to control me posed a threat to his bid for power. Which was why I moved through Stormcloak territory with relative ease; there was no writ demanding my head or imprisonment, a curious fact that went some way to redeeming the Bear of Markarth in my eyes. Of two evils, Ulfric was possibly the lesser.

Rather than stay around to hear Skulnar couch his agreement in carefully worded diplomacy, the proverbial iron fist in a velvet glove, the Jarl flicked the edge of his tunic angrily before stalking away to the privacy of his quarters. Skulnar nodded politely. "The Empire will remember your cooperation," he said to the Jarl's back. Seconds later, the door slammed rudely and the tension in the hall finally dissipated. On some invisible cue, two soldiers marched to Skulnar's side and after some moments of quiet instruction that even my ears had trouble making out, he sent them on their way.

"We leave for Solitude tonight," he informed me. "You will ride in the cart with your husband. Your hands will be bound and your mouth gagged. If you attempt to escape, we will cut off his left hand. If you attempt it again, we will cut off his right. What we will leave him is the use of his tongue. That alone is guaranteed."

One would imagine that Skulnar used that same calm and impassive tone when telling his servants to polish his shield or boots, or perhaps while dictating a message to a scribe. I kept my eyes downcast, if only as an added precaution to hide the familiar stirrings of anger as well as to appear submissive. "Very well," I replied, shrugging back my shoulders and straightening my spine.

"Hold out your hands. Clasp your fingers together."

I watched as loop after loop of rope was draped over my hands before the soldier binding me pulled them tight, double knotting each tie with a series of deft moves. From behind, someone relieved me of my sword and I forced myself to keep breathing normally as firm hands squeezed the fine leather of my boots, searching for hidden compartments. Whether by fluke or enchantment, my Elven dagger remained undiscovered; it was a small consolation I held onto when I was made to open my mouth and part my teeth so that a rough cloth gag could be inserted. And that was before a thicker one made of coarse wool that smelt faintly of mammoth was wrapped over my mouth and knotted so tightly at the back of my head that it pinched the stray hairs of my braid and flattened my ears painfully.

It occurred to me that this humiliating process might have been some form of vengeance on Skulnar's part for my theft, not to mention that I must have made things difficult for the Legates by killing Thalmor soldiers in Imperial territory several times without being seen or caught. Still, there was nothing to do but swallow my pride and wait. There was little sense in taking on numerous guards and soldiers while trapped in the city and hampered by Alduin's imprisonment. I was a thief and an assassin; trickery and secrecy were my preferred methods as opposed to waving a sword and charging straight into open battle. And anything could happen now that we were venturing out on the open road.

'Anything,' I promised myself grimly as Skulnar's soldiers led me out through the door and walked me to the gates at the edge of the city. It must have been quite a spectacle, except the citizens of Falkreath were too busy nursing their wounded and trying to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives to notice.

Alduin was already seated in the cart, dressed in his armour but stripped of his weapons, bound and gagged in a similar fashion with two guards on either side of him. Relief washed through me as I ran my eyes over him; he was unharmed. When he looked up at my approach, those rich golden eyes were blank slates that I could not read but all the same, they made my heart skip in trepidation and my steps faltered slightly before I resumed walking. Had I truly married him? He seemed to give no indication that something that disastrous had happened, choosing instead to focus on the guard who shoved me unceremoniously up and into the cart.

Awkwardly, I sat down opposite him, noting that if he really was wearing a ring, it was well hidden beneath the thick dark gauntlets and ropes that covered his hands. My ring however, winked perversely at us in the light of the torches; somehow it had escaped being smothered by the bindings. I would have sighed, but the gag was already beginning to chafe on my skin and dry my tongue. Long minutes later, our belongings were rudely tossed into the cart; horses were brought out and mounted by Skulnar and his captain who took the lead. The soldiers formed a marching line on either side of the cart and so it was that I left the smoking ruin of Falkreath, with a heavy heart, a belly full of anxiety, a husband who refused to meet my gaze, and a plan for escape that stood upon the edge of a knife.


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Okay, first things first. Thank you so much to everyone who left reviews for the last chapter. I realised there was a small furore over the inclusion of the detail that Rikke was the one who tried to get the Dragonborn beheaded. Here's the truth: I screwed up. Somehow, the wires in my brain crossed and for some reason, although I actually played through the scene again before writing the chapter, my brain identified the Captain as Rikke and there you have it. To those of you were very kind though and made allowances for this change, I thank you. I might go back to change this, but probably not since it does tie the storyline more tightly together. Also, I am so very sorry that this chapter was such a long time in coming. My Muse fell into a coma and no amount of hoarding hot Loki pictures would resurrect her, until now. MK: Well, they still need her, since the dragons' return can't be denied, just like the Prophecy. The Thalmor are actively trying to kill Freyja though, but Ulfric has his hands full with the Empire and the last thing he needs is an enemy who has been steering clear of either side. I hope this chapter fills your Alduin craving. HereLies: I love you, as does my Muse. Your reviews always inspire and make me want to raise the bar on my writing. And I am incorporating hints of your headcannon here. :) CyrusDragonhunter: *L* That is funny. And no, you aren't weird. Hello, I play in the kinkmeme sandbox. I've seen stranger things which I don't object to. Guest1: Erm, the cart ride got cut short but I'll compensate for that, somehow. I have it all planned out. Guest2: Bless you for the lovely review! I hope this chapter meets expectations. And thank you for finding my mucking about with POVs and tenses charming. Senkawolf: Thanks! I suppose I feel that way whenever I have to wrestle a chapter into submission. But I am glad you found it a good read anyway. Coldman9: You wrote so many good things and I think what means most to me is your compliment about Freyja. OCs make me nervous; she's actually my first, I believe. I made her up for this story; my game Dragonborn would have screeched a battle cry and lopped off Alduin's head. I did eventually finish the Guild and DB quests, so when this story came up, voila. So thank you so much! ItalianEmpress1985: Oh, you and your talk about Alduin exerting dominance. You planted a chapter right there and it will arrive before they get to the Throat of the World. And as for a not too shabby collection of pixels, have you played Dawnguard and seen Gelebor? If there was an option to get him as a companion, I would have soooo taken it. AnetDovahkiin: Thanks so much for your review! Well, I may do an Odahviing/Dovahkiin short story but no more dragons turned humans. I'd like to explore them as they are and its implications. *L* I find that line by Alduin if you show up in Dragon armour just bizarre. I just chalk it up to one of those Bethesda thingies. Like the naked couriers. *mumbles* FloridaMagpie: Caught in the act of making a bad pun and referencing Tolkien. You got me. JustinistheSun: Ouch, harsh much? But yes, I messed up with the Imperial Captain. And since what Freyja had was just a cold, it never occurred to me that the necklace of disease immunity could be used for that. My bad. But that conversation was more than just about the mask so she wouldn't have brought up Brynjolf's gift anyway. _

**DRAGONREND **

**XXIX.**

He has been in dark places before.

The carriage rocks gently, unceasingly as the thick wooden wheels trundle over the uneven cobbled road. He has learnt to shift, to lean into, to dig his heels and flatten his boots against the rough floor of the cart in order not to brush against the guards at his side. He cannot bear to be touched; during the initial hour of the ride, he jerked roughly away during an especially nasty bump and in turn earned himself several hard shoves that almost brought Freyja to her feet, if not for the audible threat of drawn steel and the sharp tip that finds itself inches from the Dragonborn's face.

Not his. Hers. A wife is a far more effective tool than brute force, especially if she can be worn around her husband's neck like a noose and used to bring him to heel. That is, if he cared anything for her. Alduin knows the guards assume that much; the gold band with its large ruby eye winks maddeningly in the quivering orange glow of the torches. He also knows that they assume correctly and that knowledge is what makes him think of the cold, empty starless space that he had been exiled too, which he has just discovered has been further away from his mind than he had known. And though he will not meet her glance and she has stopped trying hours ago to catch his, Alduin knows what those pale blue eyes look like; they are shields of frost beneath fair brows that do not so much as twitch regardless of the lascivious looks that the guard on his right has been giving her. He is aware of the subtle turn of her head and arch of her neck as she catches the same scent that announced itself to him long minutes before.

Through the tattered fringes of the trees, the wind roils in, cold and with vicious edge; it smells overwhelmingly of the rain that will fall hard within the hour. Alduin thinks of the fires that burned over Falkreath. He recalls men and women holding onto each other as they run, scattered and screaming while the Dov bear down from the skies, the wild bluster of great wings and the tremor of the ground as ancient legends made flesh land, those great talons gleaming dully like ebony in the sun, tearing away at wood and stone just to get at him as he dodges their Thu'um, his own throat rent raw from calling upon Odahviing who has yet to appear. The burn as he swallows, gasping at the intensity of it, of what used to be a triviality when he had been a dragon himself, shocks him anew. And then there is no time to think, for there is nothing but heat and searing light and the shuddering of the air above as the second dragon takes flight and soars low over him. This tells Alduin he is being surrounded and if he does not do something quickly, he will be dead and the Dovahkiin along with him. So he does the first thing that instinct dictates. He may not have his wings, but he has a city and this city has buildings and though these will burn, they offer him hiding places, form blind spots for the dragons, shelter from the fire until they come back to ground to root him out. It sounds like a good plan; he has no option but to test it out now and though it has been more than an age since he has addressed his father and maker, Alduin finds himself thinking of Akatosh, however briefly, as he throws himself headfirst towards the door of the nearest house.

A sudden jerk to the right throws him off balance and back into reality. The driver, who is the third soldier with them, swears but breaks off his oath as the horse, a dappled white and brown specimen, neighs loudly as it continues to skitter to the side of the path, chomping at the bit in its mouth while fighting with the driver. The soldiers break file and run before they are trampled by the panicked animal or knocked over by the dangerously swaying carriage that threatens to overturn. The sound of frantic curses breaks the silence that is otherwise filled with the wind as it harangues the leaves of the trees; up ahead, the horses of the Captain and Legate rear up and their whinnies are so sharp they sound like screams. Hands reach for bridles, hooves cleave the air and for one breathless moment, Alduin watches in alarm as the side of the carriage that Freyja sits at rises in the air as it begins to tip over. Before the guards can stop him, he shoves forward, landing hard beside the Dragonborn, who has hooked both arms over the edge and is leaning over it as much as she dares, and slams the entirety of his bodyweight against the side. Thankfully, the more intelligent of the guards follows suit and the carriage shudders as the wheels hit the ground.

For one moment, they are so close; the whiteness of her cheek and temple a jarring contrast to the mud-coloured crude gag that they have wrapped around the lower half of her face. He hears the quick, almost inaudible way she draws her breath in through flared nostrils and feels a fleeting sense of satisfaction, almost triumph, that he is not the only one affected. Not for the first time does he wonder how much of their time spent in Sanguine's realm she remembers. Then they are pulled apart and Alduin thinks himself a fool for giving even a moment of his mind to such matters. They should be inconsequential; she ought to be inconsequential. Only, and he winces inwardly as he is pushed down and his bruised shoulder is jarred yet again, she is not and now that he has fully realised it, he has to accept it because it is becomingly increasingly clear that he cannot deny it.

He has been in dark places before but even if where he was eluded him, he had always known who he was. Now, with the star strewn skies of Keizaal being clouded over, the unrest of both men and beasts all around and reduced humiliatingly to the status of a bound captive yet again, Alduin knows precisely where he is and what has happened; it is who he is that he is beginning to question. It is a dreaded transformation, one that he has resisted acknowledging, that he is struggling to place, and an insidious change that he does not know what to do with yet.

"What was that…"

"I could have sworn I saw it…"

The voices of the men wash by him, unheeded because of the silent clamour in his ears. Who is he, if not the World Eater? And how can he be that if he allows his foretold nemesis to live? His eyes fall to her hands where they rest on her thighs; from this angle her wedding band is obscured. They have always been intimately bound, intrinsically so, and for him she has existed even before she was born. God and mortal, dragon and human, one who would end the world to begin another and the other who would keep this world at the expense of another yet unborn. To fulfil his destiny he must destroy hers. And she will do her best to do the same to him. Of that, he is assured.

Because he knows her. He _knows_ Freyja.

It was never meant to be this way. That knowledge comes with an aching so intense that it tugs ruthlessly at the muscles in his chest, squeezes those around his heart and it almost hurts to have it beat because he does not think this can be undone, not even when the spell that holds his body is broken.

"Enough!" Legate Skulnar—he knows the man's name because the guards in the prison are quick with their fists and equally quick to sneer—barks and the entire company falls silent. The horses are eyeing the dark stone outcrop on the right side of the road; to the left are more rocks and a steep drop down. And then, as though to taunt them all, from the darkness seeps the sound of pebbles and silt sliding down larger rocks. Once, twice, something hard strikes stone and then there is only a silence thick with tension that is left.

Something is stalking them.

"You three, Onmi, Alof and Sor!" the Captain barks. "Take torches and flush out what that is. Probably some half-starved sabre cat or a bear. Keep your eyes open. The rest of you, move out."

Those men are too far up ahead and the night too densely dark and the torches flicker too much in the wild winds for Alduin to see their faces. But he smells their nervousness even from here. Still, they prove obedient soldiers because they venture off the road and plunge themselves into the wilderness of trees and stone.

The steady swaying of the carriage does little to lull him. As he stares unblinkingly into the darkness, trying to look everywhere but at the seemingly oblivious source of his agonising who shifted in her seat and is watching their surroundings intently, Alduin unwillingly revisits the moment in the inn when he looked down upon her and realised that his greatest enemy had become his greatest weakness. Because of her, he has begun to betray himself.

…

"Shoot it! Shoot the beast!"

Above the roar of the fires that light the tops of the houses and scorch the ground while eating up the grass and trees, Alduin hears the orders screamed again and again. He leaps to the side, rolls and dodges jagged teeth stained with the blood and flesh of a soldier who was torn apart so violently that the air turned red with the mad spraying of blood even as the pieces of the corpse were tossed aside. Monstrous snapping follows at his heels and he brings up a shimmering ward just in time to block another savage bite. The dragon snarls, rams its snout against the magic shield and then jerks hard, neck twisting back as it flails wings torn by Odahviing that now bear fresh arrows as the Falkreath guards close in on it.

Taking advantage of the dragon's distraction, Alduin races forward, dropping the ward only when he in swallowed by the huge shadow. Hefting the Nightingale blade in his right hand, he eyes the long pale throat of the other dragon, notes the unique shape and lines of the scales that distinguish one Dovah from another, and drops the ward as he draws back before striking the base of that sinuous length with all his strength. The black blade cuts through the dissolving blue shimmer, and Alduin feels the initial resistance of tough dragon scales that yield to the sword enchanted with Daedric might and magic. The weapon slides in, wet heat spatters his face and the roar that rumbles in that great heaving chest dwindles to a choked gurgle as Alduin grasps the Nightingale blade with both hands and yanks the sword sideways, ripping through flesh and muscle, his own arms aching in their socket as sweat streaks down his face, carves pale paths through the ash and dirt on his skin, and stings his eyes.

With a sickening tear, the sword finds its way back into the world and Alduin nearly loses his balance, going down on one knee and he hits the ground seconds after the Dovah's hot blood does, watches with wide grim eyes as flickering flames gush out from the fatal wound, the dragon reeling with its great maw opened in a silent scream, the clawed tips of its wings scrabbling back on the ground even as furious yellow eyes lock onto him. More arrows sail through the air, lodge themselves into that tough hide but the dragon does not so much as flinch as it dives for him and Alduin has the disconcerting experience of staring into that huge, cavernous mouth and down its glistening wet throat which still glows with the drowning fires inside. There is no ward on Nirn that is going to deflect this death charge.

"_FUS RO DAH!_"

The force of his Thu'um smashes into the dragon's face first, whips it back so abruptly he swears he hears the cracking of great bones. Then the dragon is knocked off its feet, talons splayed in a fruitless attempt to gain purchase on the ground and it tumbles, rolls, is crushed between the power of the Shout and the solid stone walls of the house behind it that practically disintegrate upon impact. But the damage is done and when Alduin gets to his feet, the dying dragon has yet to rise. The guards have already swarmed in. For one moment, he gazes upon the scene and feels a tide of emotion rise, which holds him still amidst the harsh victorious cries and the smell of death and acrid smoke.

Pity. Shame. Not for the death of the Dovah that challenged him but for the manner in which it has to die. Though he is the only god that ever walked amongst the dragons of Nirn, his kind have been worshipped as deities and he would have kept it so. Ancient knowledge, ancient power bound in a body that cannot be kept to earth and made to rule the skies now being hewed to pieces by crude iron and steel. Bile rises in Alduin's throat and he tastes bleakness on his tongue. Quickly, he turns and catches sight of a triumphant Odahviing hovering over the other side of the city. He has seized the remaining dragon by the back of its head and is bearing it down to earth, his talons locked firmly into its back, great wings flapping thunderously as he fights to contain his weakly squirming opponent as he works his great jaws, crushing bone and grinding flesh.

To Alduin's utter disbelief, a hail of glinting arrows punctures the air and rains down upon both dragons. The scarlet hunter snaps open his bloodstained mouth, and from it emerges an outraged shriek loud enough to crack stone and cow legions of men. Alduin breaks into a run as Odahviing flings his fallen enemy to the ground, leaps over smouldering rubble and shoves several guards out of the way because he knows that look in his lieutenant's eye. Odahviing, now bathed in the golden light of the soul that shrouds him as he absorbs it, now fresh from a kill and filled with battle-rage and lust, is furious.

He arrives too late, a description that can be aptly applied to the men who realise the error of their ways as Odahviing tears into their midst with both tooth and talon, slaps them effortlessly into the ground with his wings, leaving bright red smears in his wake. Amazingly, the remaining guards and some reinforcements do not flee the rampaging dragon. Instead, like senseless beasts who fail to understand how thoroughly bested they are, they continue to shoot arrows, further maddening him.

"Odahviing, cease!" Alduin shouts. He can barely hear himself over the clamour of the fight but miraculously, Odahviing does and pauses in the act of trampling two guards. Then, Alduin catches sight of a guard mere feet away that is nocking an arrow to his bow. Without thinking, he tackles him, knocking the man over as the bow clatters harmlessly to the ground.

Odahviing steps forward but for once those jaws remain shut as he surveys the situation, wanting to help but not sure how he can. If he uses fire, he will incinerate Alduin as well and that realisation is so strange, is still unreal to him in some ways. Never in the length of eternity did he ever dream he would harbour such thoughts, barring the complete loss of his mind. Using his teeth is out of the question; Alduin and the guard are struggling with each other, and it is impossible to separate one from the other. Odahviing swings around as yet more arrows pierce his skin and he roars his fury, would have unleashed flame if not for his lord's confounding order.

"Leave!" Alduin rams his knee into the guard's belly, knows the thick leather armour has absorbed at least half the impact. Odahviing is keeping some guards at bay, blocking their path with his great body and slicing at them with his tail but even then, there are other guards creeping from behind the corners of ruined buildings. "That's an order!" The guard's arm snakes around his neck, cutting off his air and Alduin digs his fingers into the man's forearm, prising it off him by sheer strength. "Now, I command it!"

By the time the scarlet Dovah is a mere speck in the sky, Alduin has been overpowered by sheer numbers. Still, he struggles, fights against the hands that restrain him, might even have drawn his sword because the accusations fly fast and furious, as do the fists of the guards who charge him with anything from summoning dragons to burn their town to being a collaborator with dragons to murder humans, never mind that he had just saved their lives.

He does not know why they have not killed him. Later, as he is thrown into prison, gagged and too battered to resist much when they drag him into a cell filled with freezing water and clap his hands into iron restraints soldered to the wall, the guards sneer that he is lucky his wife is the Dragonborn. That does nothing to console him. Discovering that he can cast a healing spell even though his wrists are manacled does not take the edge off his despair either. As the daylight that seeps into the cell slowly darkens, Alduin is unable to avoid the questions that hammer ceaselessly at him.

He cannot say for certain why he sent Odahviing away. Perhaps he had not viewed the situation from the humans' perspective when he had summoned the red dragon to his aid. Using Dragonrend was an option he had absolutely no desire to take up again. But to the guards, all dragons were the same. He ought to have known better than to believe otherwise for even a moment. And, by right of combat, Odahviing should have been left to decimate the humans while Alduin watched and gloated.

So why had he interfered? In spite of the healing spell, fatigue weaves itself into his bones, pulls softly at his eyelids and coaxes him to fall into darkness only for the sudden jolt of his knees giving out under him to startle him back into laboured wakefulness. In the moments in between, he dreams and is curiously conscious of that fact. He knows too where his mind goes when he is not able to master it. It goes back to her. When Alduin snaps back into awareness, he finds it bitter. It was Freyja's duty—_Freyja's_—to save her misbegotten kind. It would do him well to remember that and to remember where his duty lay.

'You have to stop thinking about her. That must not get in the way of what you want.'

It is a sobering thought, one that almost crushes him because it is not new. It strikes closer to the mark than any answer he can conjure. It is what sent him rushing headlong into battle against two dragons before he could conceive of a proper plan of action.

He cares for the Dragonborn, for what she thinks, how she feels. And some part of him is deeply afraid of this human body, of what it may be doing to his Sil each day he remains caged. Alduin inhales, leans back and rests his head against the wall behind, staring blindly into the light above. The restraints binding his wrists do not begin to compare to the weight that he carries in his heart. He knows what he must do. Until the guards come for him again, he spends the rest of the hours thinking about taking his own counsel.

…

Alarmed cries rouse him and the carriage comes to an abrupt halt that nearly sends him tumbling from his seat. Freyja springs to her feet before one of the guards roughly yanks her back down and orders her to remain seated or else. The feral glint in her eyes makes him withdraw his hand from her arm that much faster, makes Alduin sit up that much straighter because he recognises the slight tilt at the corners of her eyes and knows that beneath the gag, Freyja is wearing that tight grim smile that only appears when she is in the thick of a fight. Something is in the wind and it has everything to do with why they have stopped.

The cries spread through the men and soon, Alduin finds out what exactly has happened.

"His head is completely crushed… By the gods, what monstrosity…"

"It's Onmi. I recognise the amulet around his neck. So much for Julianos' protection…"

"It has to be a werewolf! There's no bear or sabre cat that can do that!"

"But why drag the bodies into the middle of the road? And where is Sor? We have to look for him."

"Are you insane? I am not going out there no matter who orders me to do it…"

It is at this moment, when all eyes are off them, when more of the men have gathered at the head of the column around the corpses of their fallen comrades, when the carriage is relatively unattended to and even the guards assigned to them are standing up and trying to catch a glimpse of what is going on, that everything happens at once.

Out of the darkness comes a thick bestial scream, grating like the clash and grate of rough steel on steel, that splits the very air into wild pennants of sound that unfurl violently all around and suddenly, the smell of blood is everywhere. Out of the darkness sweeps Shadowmere, swift as a running river of black fire, flecked with red foam that streams from that savage snarl of a mouth, who leaves behind hoof prints as crimson as the glow of his eyes over which no green grass will grow. Before this deadly apparition, men scatter, the driver deserts his post, horses flee and Shadowmere drives the carriage on, ploughs unmercifully through the men frozen in horror at the sight of him.

Alduin falls hard to the floor, as does one guard. Freyja, who has locked one arm over the side of the carriage, twists in her seat and kicks out, high and hard. Her strike is true and catches the other guard square on the chest. Already caught off balance with a less than sure grip on the carriage side, he tumbles over with a yell. As the guard who has fallen atop him struggles to rise, one hand grasping wildly for his sword, Alduin reaches up and loops his bound hands over the man's neck in a stranglehold which he keeps until the latter ceases to move.

Behind them runs Shadowmere, who somehow manages to keep the wildly careening carriage in the middle of the road by flanking it and roaring at the terrified dappled who is running with all its might. Without the torches, all Alduin can make out is the blurred outlines of trees and rocks that seem to loom down, of a tower with dim lights that shine through broken walls. Then suddenly, Shadowmere races ahead, the thunder of his hooves increasing and there is a sudden violent swing as the dappled horse swerves to avoid him. The carriage does tip over then, a tremendous cracking and splintering that surrounds him even as he buries his face in his arms and trusts to the protection of the Blades' armour. The breath is driven from his lungs as he is thrown to the hard ground, his flesh bruised within the protective casing of the metal and he wonders, even as the world spins, how the Dragonborn fares with naught but leather to shield her.

When the ground feels stable enough for him to rise, Alduin feels slightly like a fool for worrying about her. She is on her knees, and there is a ragged gash that drips blood near the silvery blonde edges of her hair. There are cuts as well on the exposed parts of her fingers; when he gets closer he can see that some of the skin has been taken off. But Shadowmere is biting at her bonds, leaving the ropes in frayed lengths that are easily pulled away and Freyja's smile is blinding as she tugs off the gag and throws her arms around that monstrous great head and neck.

Alduin knows that for the moment, he has been forgotten. Seconds pass before the rain begins to fall. Lightning sears the sky and in the far distance, he can hear the furious pounding of horses in pursuit. Shadowmere's ears flick forward and Freyja realises what this means. She comes to him then, Elven dagger in hand and in silence, she cuts his bonds. When they have retrieved their scattered belongings from the wreck of the carriage and strapped their weapons on, Freyja cuts the injured horse from its tethers, signals to Shadowmere to come over and once she is securely mounted, offers her hand to him. There is no protest from the devil horse but Alduin knows stranger things have happened. So, left with no choice and against his better judgement, he wraps his arms around the Dragonborn's waist, rests his cheek against the rough leather of her cowl and closes weary eyes against the harsh pelting of liquid cold that swallow them up in curtains of silver and black.


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hi everyone, I am back. Before anything else, I must warn that this is a SHORT chapter. It's half the length of what I usually post. I know that's just horrible, given how long I have been away but I think the other chapters will come faster after this. I would have made it longer but believe it or not, this was a hellishly difficult chapter to write, especially since I am slightly rusty and my Muse has newly emerged from her coma. Work is largely responsible for my absence and when that was over, I was too tired to do anything. Still, I think this chapter is everything it should be, in a nutshell, and I hope you think it's alright too. If I respond to reviews as I usually do, that will probably end up longer than the chapter itself, so please permit me to be succinct this once. Thank you so very much for reviewing! Those of you kept prodding at me and who left feedback in spite of the hiatus, my Muse adores you and we will both endeavour to write much longer chapters after this._

**DRAGONREND **

**XXX.**

If there was a phrase I tried not to think about too much, it was "I should have known." Not that there wasn't room for that in the quiet moments of the night, or in the aftermath of a battle, or even seconds after one discovers one has fallen into a trap or trouble, or woken up with a raging hangover to discover that one has married a world-destroying force personified. However, that was the last thing I wanted to worry about and so I firmly shoved that debacle at the back of my mind and chose to focus on someone else's. And when one knew Delvin Mallory, one didn't have to think too hard to come up with a situation which warranted a moral that began with "I should have known." "Putting both feet in the proverbial skeever shithole," Delvin pronounced with such eloquent flair as he quaffed another mug of mead and swiped at the loose drops that clung to the light whiskers on his upper lip. "I'm tellin' ya, my girl, I almost got away with it but for that pebble that I overlooked. Of course, seeing Vex naked, who wouldn't miss one little pebble… I should 'ave known though…"

Well, Delvin peeping at Vex and almost getting his family jewels sliced off and my current situation had nothing in common. 'Save for the fact that we should have known better. I ought to have put those fire runes on the road before we took off.' It had occurred to me for all of five seconds just before I had pulled Alduin up astride Shadowmere. I should also have known that riding into the forest and trying to take cover behind the trees would not be a good option, not with the treacherous rocky landscape native to this Hold. With the continuous, hard-falling rain churning the grass and soil into little more than mud, we were forced back out onto the open road. Seconds became long minutes and I was about to heave a sigh of relief—perhaps by some providence of Nocturnal's, our pursuers had given up—before Shadowmere whickered a warning and then took off as though snow trolls were hot on his heels. My head whipped back so hard I actually banged it against Alduin's helmet. And since I was pretty certain I'd never used the phrase "son of a bitch" in front of him, I chalked up that extra enrichment to his stay in Falkreath's jail. There wasn't time to tell him to watch his language though, not while I was trying to get a firmer grip on the reins, the spot at the back of my skull that was radiating fresh pain, and Alduin's viselike grip around my waist that partially squeezed the air from my lungs.

"Slow the beast down!" Alduin all but roared in my ear. In spite of the urge to smack his face away and remind him that I was the rider here, I had to agree. A hell for leather pace out on the open road could be marvellous but out in this storm that battered us with raindrops so heavy and winds so swift that being hit by them actually felt bruising, it was not such a wise idea. One slip could mean broken bones, for all of us. And while those could always be healed, I had serious doubts about spell casting if one suffered a broken neck.

Unfortunately, Shadowmere decided to turn a deaf ear to all the tugging on his reins, even when I yanked on them and dug my heels in deeply against his flanks. Instead, he neighed angrily, tossing his head and in the flickers of lightning that pierced the thick rain I could see the hard white gleam of his teeth as he chomped down hard on the bit, fighting me for his head. I was about to try again when Alduin suddenly grabbed my shoulder and pushed me flat down so quickly that my chin clipped Shadowmere's neck. "Arrows!" The sickening whir that whipped past my face made my stomach lurch as I instinctively jerked away.

I should have known.

And in that instant, Shadowmere had all the freedom he needed to barrel down the uneven, cobbled road even as the storm above drew the clouds down low, stirred and swirled them deep and dark like hags' brew. Behind me, Alduin lay plastered against my back, and it was some comfort to know that at this pace and in this situation, it would take a great deal of luck and superb marksmanship for an archer to find a chink in that metal armour. It was Shadowmere that I felt more worried for, Shadowmere who could do little more than dodge left and right as the arrows flew about us. The storm was proving to be both a help and hindrance. Without the lightning, our surroundings were plunged into a murky greyness that Shadowmere and Alduin's eyes were more than capable of piercing. But our mounted pursuers, who had to be Skulnar and his Captain, were never far behind and each bright flash that tore the skies brought more shots, some that fell unnerving close as they whirred inches from us.

It was the sudden shift of Alduin's body against mine that caught my attention, the way he raised himself slightly, twisting around to face the soldiers that told me what he was about to do. "Don't kill them," I turned, shouted into the wind even as I shoved the reins into one hand and grabbed at him with the other. Fingers that were beginning to ache with the cold slid down wet metal, hooked themselves around the raised grooves of his pauldron and when I pulled him back around, he had a snarl on his face that was breathtakingly feral. 'Dragons and their prey,' the thought slid in and out of my consciousness in that heartbeat, and I was more than aware of the fact that I had released him almost at once. "If you do, the Empire will want us dead!" It would matter little that Whiterun was a neutral Hold. Balgruuf would not be able to help if the Empire charged his Thane with murder. And the Thalmor would be able to openly hunt for me. As it was, Skulnar and his Captain could confirm that I was riding eastwards towards Whiterun; it was no coincidence that they had chosen to follow that particular path to stalk. Tullius and Elenwen undoubtedly had spies in the city and the last thing they needed was a legitimate excuse to send in their forces and flush out a wanted murderer. From Windhelm, Ulfric would perceive it as an act of aggression or of betrayal and it might be enough to push an already troubled Jarl into picking a side and in so doing, tip the country over the edge into all out war.

Alduin opened his mouth to reply and suddenly the air around us seemed to explode in a deafening crack that struck at the same time as the blazing light did. Shadowmere screamed and veered so sharply to the left that for a moment, I thought he would fall and that it was all over. I grabbed for the arm that Alduin kept around my waist, reins tangled in my other hand that held the pommel in a death grip even as we both ducked down as low as we could, his body shielding mine from the driving rain. When I looked up, the tree was already falling, its dark bulk bearing down on us.

Then Dragon Shouts ripped through the storm and the night.

* * *

><p>He did not think; it was instinct at its purest to act.<p>

"_FUS RO DAH!_"

Then the world turned white and grey, a landscape of frozen pale shadow as the Dragonborn called to Time and bent it to her will, as only a Dovah could.

The very air itself shuddered, rippled as his Thu'um, glistening and radiant with raw power, tore through the air and eyes touched with Dragon sight saw wood splinter, bark peeled back by sheer force, the long gashes that deepened and ate into the trunk, spreading like broken webs as the tree was flung back through the air and away from them even as they passed beneath it, Shadowmere hurling himself forward like a black bolt caught in slow motion by the mirrors of eternity, the sound of his hooves low and drawn out like distant drums of war as he skimmed the edge of the riverbank, the turbulent waters of the great lake beyond swirling hungrily at their feet.

One second folded in on the next and Alduin could measure time by the breaths he took, by the slow rise and fall of Freyja's lashes as she blinked, eyes closing and widening at the slow splitting of the tree captured in mid-flight, by the slow muted snapping of wood that echoed with hollow resonance. She glowed so bright in this world of spectral hues of white, black and grey.

…_and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn… _

He had had an eternity to plot death, to plan victories, to brood and now through his fingers, he felt it slipping away, yet made no effort to retrieve what once made his heart burn. A new thing had come.

He wanted the one he had named Alduin's Bane. No scroll, no book labelled her as such but in the depths of Time itself, while cocooned in his prison of darkness his mind had roamed to places where no magic could hold it and his enemy, ancient ere she had been born had become a point of focus, the cog upon which his ultimate victory rested. What a terrible irony to waken to, but after all, he should have known. Prophecies could never be taken as they were at surface value and the one concerning himself and the Dragonborn had been deceptively simple. Perhaps the ending he had read in it was not the only way.

And truth be told, now that he was willing to let it dawn, he was tired of fighting. There was little merit, no glory in a futile struggle while he waged an internal war that he knew he was losing. If he had not been so convinced of the rightness of matters according to his interpretation, of the impossibility of her ever wanting him, he would have done what any other Dovah would have done. And after all that had befallen them, now that his mind was changed, this was the only course he would consider taking. 'A Dragon takes what it wants.' It was in their nature, in their blood. 'Even in hers,' he thought, his gaze lingering on her face even though it was a memory of fierce frost blue eyes and a kiss upon a ring that he saw.

She cared for him. She had to, even if it was only a little. It had been enough for her to choose him. It was something he could use, a way to still have it all.

It was not an hour for executing momentous decisions, or perhaps even the day for such. A god needed a moment when he finally moved beyond denial and accepted irrevocable change as fact. There had to be a moment, an inevitable leaving behind of, a realignment of destiny as he had always known it that needed committing to.

As the currents of Time burst through the fading dam of the Words of Power, Alduin said nothing to the woman whose hand he felt most keenly over his as she clasped him to her and shot him a relieved smile that cut like a knife and left the wound singing with fire. Behind them, horses screamed, wood shattered as it fell down with the rain, men cursed as they spilled to the ground from their terrified fleeing mounts and Alduin turned back and pressed his face into the Dragonborn's shoulder.

If he remembered rightly, safety was yet miles away, past this lake whose length they had yet to completely traverse. For the first time, in spite of the danger and the miserable storm that hung over them, he felt a flicker of gratitude. It was one thing for a god to realign all that he knew and expected. It was another to tell his mate that she had to do the same. But before that, there was still the little matter of their marriage that he had to explain. And although Alduin was already looking forward to savouring victory, he was wise enough to know this was not a war he wanted to look forward to.


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

_A/N: Alright, there is a sh*tload of work that just came in so it might be another fortnight or three weeks more likely, before I have another chapter. That said, I must confess I got distracted by Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth shipping and wrote a little something. I feel so unfaithful to Alduin and Freyja now. Oh well…such are the perils of shipping. Fanfiction happens. As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you so much to everyone who left reviews for the last one! You fed the Muse and she sat me down for all of today to get this done. Liber Fatum: Thank you for waiting and having faith! Zute: It is always so great to hear from you! And I spy a new chapter of "We Know"; I am so on it. HereLies: You have great spidey sense! And you are absolutely right about the Thor 2 trailer; he did steal the whole thing and I watched the end again and again, shamelessly. And as always, you are completely on the ball with everything. I must say though, that Alduin, being the ambitious dragon-god that he is, has not so much changed his goals as added to them. Guest: You sound so familiar but I can't quite place you. Still, thank you for the wonderfully detailed review and all the lovely things you wrote. As for Brynjolf, soon, very soon, especially since he's started looking like a scruffy Jaime Lannister in my Muse's head. Italiam Empress1985: __*L*I like that. If only we could say 'screw it' to all difficult chapters and chuck them somewhere convenient. Ah, you are so right about Alduin thinking he can have his cake and Freyja too. And thank you for taking care of that troll for me. I am utterly grateful to you for doing that. Galaxytrain: Thanks for sticking with this story from the start and no worries, I won't abandon this! I've actually planned out all the chapters to the end; it's just a question of finding time and the right words. Highwayunicorns: *L*Thanks for the enthusiasm. It's good to be back. Kelsipenewit: You read my mind; I saw it like a movie scene and that was what I was gunning for. Adelita Latigazo: Eh, I would answer your questions but some of the other reviewers have kind of guessed what Alduin is up to. I don't want to let the kitty out of the bag but if you want me to spoil it, PM me and I'll reply. Harmoniedusoir: Thanks for taking the time to write a detailed review and trust me, I enjoyed reading it; reviews like these kick the Muse into action when she's in a coma so I owe a lot to you guys as well. Funny you should mention Freyja's time with the Dark Brotherhood. There's going to be quite a bit of detail focusing on that in the coming chapters. I hope you enjoy that. Soseolga: Thank you so much! It certainly is my goal to explore Alduin's backstory and other details concerning him. I'm so glad you've had a good time with this story (and all the feels!). _

Genre: Adventure/Humour

**DRAGONREND **

**XXXI.**

They were now wet again. Alduin grimaced as his boots squelched in the muddy silt of the bank. Slipping, he went down on one knee and might have acquainted himself with the taste of wet soil and stone if not for his hand that lashed out and caught Shadowmere's tail. Naturally, the thrice-damned bloody horse would try to kick him. "You ungrateful four-legged Void spawn," he growled as he jerked to the side and dodged the worst of the blow, only to end up in the mud after all and with what he suspected was a slightly dented breastplate. "I should have taken my chances with the soldiers."

"Can we not fight amongst ourselves?" Freyja huffed exasperatedly as she clambered up the bank, hands tucked securely around Shadowmere's bridle for support.

"He started it!" Picking himself up, Alduin scraped off as much of the mud as he could, mouth pressed into a thin line as he reminded himself that the goal was to eventually win Freyja over to his side. Putting a sword in her horse was hardly the way to get started, even though it would alleviate the misery of the morning. The branches of the trees above were notably bare; most had had their leaves torn off by the storm that had abated some hours before. Still, dawn's light was taking some time to arrive and the sky remained a dark mottled grey, smeared with the twisted remains of purplish black clouds that continued to glare down on them. The air had a sharp metallic edge to it, so thick he could almost taste it. And while he had been uncomfortably damp by the time they had reached the end of Lake Ilinalta, he was now soaking from the waist down, thanks to Freyja's insistence on crossing the river. It had been difficult, even at the shallowest part, and the current had threatened to sweep him off his feet more than once. Shadowmere's great girth had provided some shelter and support, although Alduin now wished rather fervently that the river had taken the horse with it.

"So where exactly are we going?" he asked when he caught up with her, taking care not to trip over the gnarled roots that protruded from the wet ground like twisted fingers. There had been little time to talk after their escape, with Shadowmere insisting on setting a punishing pace by galloping for what seemed a small eternity and by the time the devil horse slowed to a trot, Alduin was bruised and he hurt in places that he never even knew had been present in the frail body he inhabited. As it was, he felt stiff and unbearably sore even though Freyja had given him the last of the Stamina potions in her pack before they dismounted. The last thing he recalled was waking to find himself draped over the Dragonborn, his arms loosely wrapped around her waist with his head securely tucked into the crook of her shoulder. Then, feeling comfortable and rather safe, he had fallen back into a dreamless oblivion once more.

"There's an empty hut just up ahead." Freyja batted away a stray leave that dropped on her shoulder and wiped her fingers absently on the leather of her cloak. "It will serve as a safe hiding place from the Imperials that are probably chasing after us even as we speak." Deep shadows rimmed the bottom of her eyes, her lips were as pale as her skin and a myriad of wiry tendrils had escaped her braid now that she pushed her cowl down around her shoulders. The rain had washed away the dirt from her skin but her blue eyes were dull with fatigue. Alduin cleared his throat and tried to banish the somewhat inappropriate thoughts that were curling around the edge of his thoughts now that the prospect of being alone with Freyja was probably minutes away from becoming tantalisingly real. And best of all—well, second best actually— horses could not fit into huts. Which meant good riddance to Shadowmere.

"Would not a deserted hut be precisely the kind of place the soldiers might think to search first?" It took some effort, but he managed to leave out the part about this being a fact that was painfully obvious. Once upon a time it might have amused him to insult Freyja but… well, it still would have amused him but not enough for him to do so at the expense of keeping his wife.

"They might, if it is even on their maps in the first place. But I am quite sure they won't find us." In the silence, their voices sounded loud and even the wet ground against their boots and Shadowmere's hooves made soft sucking noises as they trudged on. The trees grew more densely here, the ground rose at a steeper incline and Alduin inhaled sharply as, in the distance, he glimpsed the great stone arches that rose to the sky. The proud weatherworn dragon heads that he knew from another lifetime looked down unforgivingly on him from their mountain perch.

"That's Bleak Falls Barrow," Freyja spoke. For a minute, he had forgotten her.

"I knew that temple." It had been one of the grandest of the high places built to worship his kind. The blood of thousands of slaves and possibly their bones had gone into its making, the raising of the arches, the years that had gone by as the mortals carved out the face of the mountain to make it a new one. The lashes had sung loud and sharply through the air as he soared overhead with Paarthurnax, and he could smell blood mixed with snow, laughed as the men threw themselves down upon the ground and hid their faces in reverence and fear. The long purple robes of the Dragon Priests had snapped and billowed like sails in the wind as they lowered their golden staffs and bent their knees to him. "It used to be a lot larger." The Nords must have pulled it down as much of it as they could after the war had been lost. Time had done the rest.

"That's hard to imagine—"

"Dov are gods of the air," he snapped, rounding on her. "The core of the temple, the sanctum of worship, would have been beneath the open sky, not in the dark heart of the mountain's belly. Do you know nothing? We are not creatures that crawl in the dirt."

At first he thought she would strike him. Then, the anger that hardened the lines of her face fled and her shoulders slumped slightly. "I don't think you meant to say 'we'. The hut is not far from here," she finished simply before walking away. All he could do was watch as Shadowmere ambled after her.

Alduin realised he was clenching his jaw too tightly when pain spiked up the side of his face. She had always thought of herself as more human than dragon; he might have remembered that. "But I did." His breath rose like white smoke in the sharp chill of the air. "You know not what you are." He would find a way to convince her. As he followed, he did not look up again at the remnants of his once mighty temple.

* * *

><p>I might have remembered that beneath that body and under that skin was a dragon that was waiting to swallow the world. 'Idiot,' I cursed myself silently. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid.' Stupid for still thinking about the way his legs cushioned mine to the soothing slow rock of Shadowmere's trot, the way his arms would loosen about my waist until I pinned them firmly by placing mine atop his. Stupid for feeling like something was missing because I could not feel the weight of his head in the crook of my shoulder. For my fool heart that ached a little, only a little.<p>

If I weren't so sure that half the bloody Imperial forces of Falkreath and Thalmor agents weren't already on their way to swarming Balgruuf's Hold, I would have ridden Shadowmere all the way to Riften and demanded Maramal or Dinya grant me an annulment. 'Giving out all those stupid books should count for something.' Irritably, I stomped on a rock and ground it further into the soil. 'It's irresponsible, that's what it is. Marrying drunkards to… idiotic dragon gods who…' And here was where logic failed to produce a proper explanation. What in the Void, Oblivion and Aetherius had Alduin been doing in the Temple of Mara in the first place? And even if I had been drunk out of my wits, surely he would have known better than to say the vows. In the worst case scenario, I could well imagine Alduin foisting me off on some other hapless fool and seeing me trapped in a marriage of inconvenience for his own entertainment. When it came to him saying the vows, I drew a blank.

"Well, if I was drunk, it does not count," I muttered stubbornly. "Or maybe the guards have gotten it wrong. They were completely panicked. You cannot trust the word of men who look as though they might wet their breeches any minute."

Shadowmere whickered, shaking his head up and down. He looked as though he was nodding. "You're a good friend." I patted his long nose and he nudged my cheek. Sometimes I wondered what Shadowmere would do if he knew I spent stolen moments and the odd late sleepless hour thinking about leaving the Brotherhood. I could not serve the Night Mother, not if I left Skyrim to seek a home I felt was out there but could not recall ever seeing. I had seen Shadowmere break a bandit's neck with his jaws. Those hooves crushed bones and flesh the way a warhammer did. 'Would you ever turn on me?' The thought remained unspoken as I ran my hand down his neck. I was not ready for an answer.

Anise's cabin had, once upon a time, been old and worn but neat. Now there were more missing boards, more holes in the roof. The tiny garden at the side of the entrance, which grew leek, cabbage and potatoes, looked wilder than ever and I could see that the rabbits and birds had gotten to the vegetables. The crimson thatch of mountain flowers that grew nearby was thicker and redder than ever and each time I looked at it, I remembered the old witch's still, crumpled body that had crushed them. Maybe the roots had drunk up her blood. The hairs on the back of my neck rose and I pulled my eyes from the flowers. That had been another lifetime ago, or so I would like to believe.

"Lead them on a merry chase, won't you?" I said quietly to Shadowmere as I knotted the reins and hitched them to the pommel. "As long as they don't go anywhere near Helgen or the mountain pass." Red eyes gleamed at me, alight with wicked mischief and I knew a scout or two would certainly lose their lives, or just a limb or two if they were lucky. "I'll see you in three days." Needless to say, he would come at night. Whether as thief or assassin, the shadows always hid me.

I watched as Shadowmere cantered off into the distance in the direction of Riverwood. I could already hear the tales, the whispers, see Orgnar leaning over the counter and telling of a great black beast of a horse, a spectre with red eyes that fled in the early light of dawn. The Whiterun guards would say it ran in the direction of the road leading pass the Graywinter Watch. And even if the Imperials and Thalmor went to Dragonsreach itself, they would find no trace of Whiterun's Thane. 'However much I want to return,' I thought wistfully. Breezehome was the first home I had bought, in truth the first home given me. Five thousand septims was an impossible amount for an escaped convict who hadn't a clue as to who she was, how she had arrived and whether or not she really had the soul of a dragon. "Call it a reward," Proventus Avenicci had said as he discretely handed me two huge purses stuffed with septims. I called it Balgruuf's guilt at sending an untried woman who held a sword and was dressed in somewhat burnt Imperial armour into battle against a creature risen from legend. That he might have almost gotten the Dragonborn killed probably contributed to this outpouring of largesse. 'And maybe some politics too.' Keeping me as his Thane might have been Balgruuf's way of evening his chances against Tullius and Ulfric who eyed Whiterun the way wolves eyed a lone elk. I still didn't know what he intended to accomplish and I had probably disappointed him by leaving the city for extended periods and months on end. "Slays dragons, is useless at politics.' It was a poor joke, and the humour grim at best.

"He will be coming back, I take it," Alduin commented once Shadowmere vanished. He looked and sounded mildly disappointed and I might have chuckled, if I had been less vexed with him and myself. Deciding that silence was my best option, I chose to ignore him, swallowed my jibe about stating the obvious and walked into the cabin. I hated that I was so aware of the fact that he was less than three steps behind me. Suddenly, the place felt too small.

"Curdled stew, rotted berries of some kind, several inches of dust in the corners the rain has not drenched…"

I was bending over the trapdoor when his voice trailed off. I looked up to see him staring in disgust at the remains of a rabbit that still hung from a hook. The fur, clotted with brownish bloodstains, hung down in strips, barely covering the delicate bones beneath. "I am assuming you have not been using this hut for awhile and this is not a measure of your housekeeping abilities."

"The appearance of disuse is the entire point." I had changed the door to the cellar several months before, once I had decided there was no point in letting a perfectly good hiding spot go to waste. Now the door lacked the obvious metal strips and fitted seamlessly with the rest of the floor. The wood had been appropriately aged to match as well and I had given Delvin a hundred extra septims to hand to his friend who had been kind enough to make both trapdoor and lock. Brushing away the straw that littered the surface, I pressed down hard at once on both far corners of the door and heard the gratifying sound of a bolt sliding back. I pushed the door up and looked down into the thick darkness below. A damp, rather pungent smell rose up and made my nose twitch.

"No. I am not getting in there. It smells like a cross between a privy and a rotting animal."

"Stop exaggerating. It's not that bad."

"Obviously taking one breath of that air has eradicated your already inferior sense of smell."

"Climb down this ladder and get inside now."

"Never."

* * *

><p>"I know perfectly well what you are doing," Alduin grumbled. There was just no reprieve from this…this… He sneezed. He had never sneezed as a dragon and he had hardly ever done so as a human. It was still an almost entirely new and slightly disconcerting experience. "You are trying to kill me before we get to High Hrothgar."<p>

There was no light, because there were no candles and Freyja pointed out that the smoke would stay in the cellar and then they would both suffocate and die. He could see perfectly well though, could make out the exasperated roll of her eyes, the way she draped her arms loosely over her knees, a strip of dried beef dangling from her fingers. He could smell the salt on her lips. It was somewhat distracting, but not as distracting as the bearskin pelt wrapped around him which scratched at his skin and made it itch. 'The hunter definitely sold her defective goods.' Of course Freyja would be too proud to admit it and she told him yet again to stop whining. "You sound worse than a child," she had chided and he had been half-tempted to smother her with the coarse fur pelt that naturally, would have a rather strong odour attached to it.

History had repeated itself for once more, their clothes and belongings were spread out on every available surface: the rickety shelf, the arcane enchanter (once Freyja had dusted off the webs), the alchemy lab (once she had wiped up the remnants of some dried potion with a rag), the table and even the drawers of the table which they had pulled out. And because she had made him wade through a river, Alduin had had to take off even the clothes that he had been wearing. And unlike Freyja, who had stashed spare clothes and some strange-looking fur armour in the cupboard for herself, he had nothing to wear. Hence, the bearskin pelt, Alduin thought sourly. At least his belly was full, even if all there was to eat were dried strips of beef, pork and something that she assured him was fish and perfectly edible. He wanted an apple. Better yet, he wanted apple pies and crème treats. The thought of those almost made him wistful.

"Keep your voice down. And I am not trying to kill you. Although I do wish I had pushed you under while we were crossing the river. But only for a minute or two." Freyja gobbled the remains of the strip and wiped her hands thoroughly with another rag.

"Is that the extent of your plans and ability to plan? It might explain why we are currently stuck underground in a foul pit with an even fouler privy less than twenty feet from us."

"At least we have a privy. Imagine having to use a bucket," Freyja interjected with sickening cheer.

Alduin stared at her.

"I don't think I have ever mentioned that I was once thrown into prison. Cidha Mine, they called it, located in the City of Blood and Silver."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. I was standing close to someone marked for death and when the assassin came for her, I simply reacted because I thought the blade was meant for me. To cut a long story short, I ended up framed for the murder of a perfectly nice and helpless man. I managed to get out though, after a few days. And yes, I got even." Something flickered in her eyes and it looked as though she would say more but the moment passed. "And speaking of stories," she held up her hand. "I still need to know what happened. I can't remember anything—"

"Freyja—"

"I do think though, that I really cannot accept this." The fingers of her right hand closed around the ring. Alduin's eyes widened. He opened his mouth but there were no words to speak. He simply did not know what to say. "Although I am sure there's a perfectly good explanation…" She stopped speaking after the first tug failed to dislodge the ring. "A good explanation…" Freyja tugged harder and unconsciously, Alduin pulled the bear pelt more tightly around himself. He wished he had his armour on. "An explanation…" She twisted hard and he see her face flush with the effort as she struggled to remove the thick gold band that clung stubbornly to her flesh. Perhaps it had not been a good idea to put his sword that far away. He should have left it right next to him. Just in case.

"Sithis and the bloody Void, not again!" Freyja exploded as she shot to her feet. By now, her face was completely red and she had the beginnings of a snarl on her face.

"You did say to keep our voices down." Furious blue eyes slashed through the darkness to land with unerring accuracy on him and Alduin thought he might have flinched. 'Might have. Only a little.'

"Alduin, shut up."

He had the wisdom of the ages and right now, said wisdom advised that he tread on the side of caution and swallow his pride just this once. Of course, watching Freyja saw carefully at the ring with her Elven dagger was also as good a reason as any for holding his tongue. Far be it from him to distract her. He watched as she cursed in furious heated mutters, waited until all the fight left her and she finally acknowledged what they had both known all along: the ring was not coming off.

When she turned to him, he held up his left hand. "I tried to take it off as well."

She sank back down to the cold ground, pushed the hair from her face, and took a deep breath. "I want to know exactly what happened."

'That is a completely unwise demand.' Naturally, he kept that thought to himself, along with some other choice images that sprang to mind. Definitely, under no circumstances could Freyja know what had transpired between them. Especially since he was unarmed and basically undressed while she was still clutching that dagger in her hand, although she seemed unaware of it.

"Well, we should start at the beginning, or rather the end. What is the last thing you do remember?"


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man...

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hey everyone! I had such a tough time writing this one but here it finally is, something I feel satisfied with. It's awfully late now and I have work all too soon. So if there are any errors I missed, I'll come back and clean them up later. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this. Also, several shout-outs to GRRM and The Avengers. Just because I love them so much. Goldmaedchen: I hope this is as funny as you thought it would be. And your English is absolutely fine. :) ItalianEmpress1985: I adore your reviews, you know that right? As for me being a tease..well, yes I am. But in the best way possible, as you pointed out. *L* As for Alduin's reaction, you are bang on the money. PhantomX0990: Hey, it's good to hear from you too! I'm catching up with The Divine Champion actually but I spoiled the last chapter by glancing at it and I am excited! TanithAeyrs: Thanks for the review! Labour is such an apt word for this chapter. It was sit down and push the thing out onto Word. I'm so glad you had a good time reading this and I do appreciate you letting me know in detail what you enjoyed. Zute: *L* I think our minds are wired the same when it comes to Shadowmere and being forced to pay high prices for property that the Dragonborn earned with blood and sweat. I have no head cannon for Shadowmere, but you know I find yours completely plausible as well. And as always, it was a thrill to hear from you. Ragez: Er, sorry to disappoint, but I had to. She'll find out eventually though, when the timing's right. WingedLionSpirit: Thank you! I'm especially pleased that your impression of Alduin has changed. That's the best praise for a writer, really. Freyja's met with Mehrunes Dagon, Namira, Nocturnal, Azura, Hircine and now Sanguine. As for her acquaintances, who knows what will happen along the way?_

**DRAGONREND **

**XXXII.**

He wondered if Freyja knew he could see her perfectly well in the dark. He wondered if she realised how much better she could see in the velvety pitch-blackness than a human would. After all, she had made this pathetic little hole slightly cleaner while he had been left to his own devices, namely taking off his soaked armour and clothing, and maintaining some semblance of decency with the smelly fur he was currently wrapped in, while she tended to all the other matters. And all without a light source. Now, he watched as she struggled to calm herself, to smooth her features into the mask he had seen her wear before. But she was tired—unless he missed his mark, she had barely slept the night before. And now that she had food in her belly, the desire to sleep could not be far off. Perhaps that was why, in spite of her best efforts, her mouth remained a tight thin line and the corners of her eyes were slightly creased with worry.

"I was looking for you," she began haltingly, choosing to stare at the dagger in her hand. A moment later, she laid it down and clasped both arms around her knees that she had drawn up against her chest. For a second, she looked young, almost vulnerable and Alduin felt the most absurd desire to... well, he did not know quite what he wanted to do but memories of the way she had hugged Skuli and Eydis sprang to mind. Then came the image of their hands clasped together as she helped him down the rain-drenched rocks in Falkreath, the slide of his thumb over her knuckles. This had nothing to do with desire. It was reassurance, he realised. Comfort. He wanted to comfort her. His mouth turned dry. It was a good thing that she was supposed to be talking. Suddenly, his heart was beating much too quickly for his liking.

"But you weren't there and what I thought was a harmless acquaintance saw me. Sam Guevenne," she grimaced. "He said his name was Sam and I never thought to doubt him. We sat down to dinner and he gave me something to drink." She exhaled softly. "So, which Daedric Prince did he serve?"

He must have looked more startled than he realised because she gave a short sharp laugh that was stripped bare of any mirth. "Well, I did say 'not again', if you recall. Daedric rings that don't come off aren't exactly unknown to me. Although I doubt Hircine has anything to do with this one."

"Well, with your inability to see what is... what was staring you in the face, there really is little wonder as to why you keep falling for the same machinations again and again," Alduin quipped dryly.

"Oh pardon me. Not all of us can claim to be fallen gods that retain a hint of their former powers, enough so that they can recognise the servants of other gods when they see them," Freyja snapped. "And if you are so superior, how did you end up with a ring around your finger?"

He could have taken the bait she was so obviously dangling before him. However, that would have been far too easy. Freyja was spoiling for a fight and he would give her one, just not the type she was expecting. "I do believe the reason is you," he replied calmly. "You were taken from the inn and it fell to me to retrieve you."

The irritation dropped from her face like summer leaves in winter. "You-you came for me?"

"We are dragons, Freyja, and I, a god amongst the Dov. I do not let others take what belongs to me." Her eyes went wide and she swallowed visibly. No, she had no idea how clearly he could see her. She would not have allowed such transparency otherwise. "Besides, I have need of you." He dropped his voice a notch and almost smiled when he noticed her inch back against the wall, as though the solid stone was not already pressed against her spine. "Who else will restore me to my original form?" he finished lightly.

She watched him with narrowed eyes but a tell-tale flush stole up her neck and cheeks. Then, shaking her head slightly, she cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. "That's the more likely reason," she said and it took more than mortal hearing to catch the faintest echo of a quiver in those clear tones. "So what is his name?"

"Are you familiar with Sanguine?" The look of abject horror that crossed her face confirmed that she did.

"Sanguine the Prince of Debauchery? Sam was serving him?"

"Freyja, you are beginning to squeak." She glanced longingly at the dagger next to her but all the same, she calmed down. Or at least made a semblance of it. "Sam Guevenne is not Sanguine's servant. Sam Guevenne is Sanguine."

She paled at that, went perfectly still. "So that's what you meant. All those times in Whiterun... I'd always said 'no' but this time..."

"You always said 'no' to what?"

"A friendly competition, for a magical staff. A drinking competition," she clarified. "I never felt quite right about it but that evening I—" And then she stopped abruptly.

"You made the very foolish decision to change your mind. You should trust your instincts. They are sharper than the ones given mortals. How many times have you felt to take a particular turn, or that the next Word Wall was only so much further away and hidden up in those mountains? I have seen your map and there are places on it that no adventurer could have travelled to and survived. What else led you there but instinct born of dragon blood?"

* * *

><p>I groped for an acceptable answer. "It was luck. Nocturnal—"<p>

"Is a fickle mistress. And you were never hers from the start, not from the very beginning."

So whose am I then? But I dared not ask the question. In the darkness his face seemed to blend into the shadows, those sharp chiselled features blurred but how his golden eyes burned. Alduin was playing a game that I could scarce believe he was playing. Or perhaps it was the fatigue affecting me. Alduin despised me. We tolerated each other because we had been forced by circumstances to be together.

'You held me in the rain and took my hand, then slept with another woman.' The thought felt like a fist to my face, but it was exactly what I needed. Perspective. I needed to remember who he was, who I was. And that apparently, male dragons flitted from female to female with the same ease as most human males. Even Brynjolf had not spent every night at the Cistern. Delvin, for all his pining after Vex, occasionally went to Haelga, of all the women in Riften. Even sweet Rune who was forever saying he wanted to get to know me better eventually got to know some of the local girls a heck of a lot better than he ever would know me. Come to think of it, more than three quarters of the randy thieves in the Guild were probably responsible for a good portion of Elgrim's business. There were potions that they sold, and then there were potions, Ingun Black-briar had shared conspiratorially once I had delivered her nightshade, nirnroot and deathbells. The latter kinds were sold under the counter of course, but if I ever needed one after a reckless night of passion, "you know whom to come to," Maven's daughter had enthused as she elbowed me playfully in the arm. Not that she needed to know that I had no idea if such a night of passion was even written in my history but—

"Freyja?"

Oblivion and damnation, he'd caught me in the act of drifting. 'So Alduin had sex with Narri. Deal with it.' I had handled far worse things in my short life here and had never run from them since that one time when I had learnt the utter futility of such an act.

"Did you hear me? I asked—"

"Where did he take me?" I interrupted, sounding harsh to my own ears. "Did he... did he do something to me?"

The fur rustled and the light in his eyes flickered as he blinked. "If you mean did he touch you, no. I would have... I would remember it and he would have paid when I was myself again. But he had plans for you and he brought you to a place called Misty Grove, a plane of existence he carved out for himself."

"Why? And if he didn't take you then how did you get there?"

"He was going to marry you off and I had less than a day to follow after. There was a portal he kept open."

Sanguine, better known by his informal title as the god of tits and wine, had kidnapped me just so that he could marry me off? It sounded almost too ridiculous to be true. If those tales from Cyrodiil were credible though, Sanguine had once asked its Champion to strip several people naked just for amusement. And in return, the Champion, whose identity had never been confirmed in any page of lore, had received... "It's the bloody staff again," I muttered through my teeth. And after all that trouble, I didn't have it. "So the only way for us to leave was if you married me?"

"Yes. Sanguine was adamant that a wedding take place. There was no other choice."

"He obviously would have known who you are. That's probably why he did it. It would amuse him too, the Dragonborn and the World-Eater, bound in matrimony as husband and wife, as well as by fate to destroy one another." Fighting the urge to bury my face in my hands, I settled for rubbing my eyes almost viciously. "Was there a priest of Mara there? If he didn't have one, it's not legal—"

"It is legal," Alduin cut in flatly. "He stole one from her temple and the man was forced to marry us."

Well, that did it then. We were well and truly stuck with each other. "I don't remember any of that happening." Needless to say, I knew it had something to do with the blasted brew I had poured down my gullet. "Why would you agree to marry me?"

For several long moments, he kept quiet and the silence pealed so loudly in the dark that I had the most horrible feeling that something worse was to come.

"Freyja, there were others Sanguine offered. You chose me."

And by all the gods, I was right. I would be right, of all the gods-damned blasted times in the world that had suddenly become very small, so small in fact that it had shrunk to these narrow walls, golden eyes that wouldn't stop staring and the mother of all blushes that was setting my face and hair roots on fire. "You could have said no."

"Could I now?"

No, he could not have. Daedric Princes never took 'no' for an answer unless they were planning to take your head off. I had fought off Daedra sent by Mehrunes Dagon and Namira's cannibals; I had never gone up against the Princes themselves. Once upon a time, I might have been able to. But that was an offer I had sworn I would not take, not while there was life in me. That didn't mean that I wasn't tempted to from time to time, and surely now was one of those times.

_You could remain the plaything of the gods. Or, you could remember that you were made to slay them. When you learn your true nature, harken to me. _

Not the Night Mother, but him. And he was always so close, always at hand. Dark powers, dark father...

Once upon a time.

* * *

><p>"You do not have to look as though you have already lost the battle against me."<p>

She jerked as though he had struck her and for a moment, Alduin felt sorry he had spoken so sharply. But she had looked so stricken that it had rankled, as much as her initial eagerness to remove the ring had.

"I was just thinking," she said softly and he knew she spoke truly, for she sounded as though she was coming back from miles away. "After the wedding, was there a bedding ceremony?"

Her sudden preoccupation with beds mystified him until he recalled that a long time ago, Freyja had explained this to him once before. "No. He released us the moment we said our vows."

"I see."

He had to bite his tongue at the palpable relief in her voice. It was hard to imagine that this was the same woman who had tied him up and practically torn his clothes off. The things she had done, that they had done would haunt his dreams. They already did the daylight hours.

"If this is a marriage in name only then perhaps it does not matter. I only ask that in the future, you could be more discrete when you...wish to return another woman's attentions—"

"What in Oblivion are you talking about?" Then, an appalling thought occurred to him. An appalling thought that had a smug smile and red hair and who called his Dragonborn "Lass". "Are you telling me that you wish to bed other men?" He had almost said 'that man' but sheer effort had kept those words from spilling out. So far, he had managed to get away without mentioning that creature and he fully intended to keep it that way.

"What? No, not exactly but fair is fair and if you look for other women then I have every right to do the same," Freyja shot back with righteous indignation.

"You wish to look for other women?"

"No! I meant—you know what I meant."

By now, she was fairly shouting and to be honest, so was he. "Freyja, if I catch you with another man, I will take him apart in front of you. Slowly."

"Why, that's rich coming from you! Where were you when Sanguine was busy pushing his cursed brew down my throat?"

"I was with Narri."

"Exactly!" Freyja jabbed her finger at him triumphantly. "Thank you for making my point."

"Actually, I fail to see your point."

"If you tell me that bedding her just before our marriage does not count, I'll beat you black and blue myself."

"Firstly, I doubt you could. Beat me black and blue, that is," Alduin replied with as much ice in his voice as he could muster. "Secondly, I did not bed the woman."

"You just followed her down into her room because she asked you nicely," Freyja mocked and Alduin felt like throttling her. "Okay, so what were you doing?"

He wondered how Freyja would respond if he told her he had been studying a Dibellan book on the art of making love. "Or as we sometimes call it, fucking," Narri had said bluntly. "Most women don't like it when that term is used though, so stick to the romantic version."

"Well?"

"We were reading. She had a book."

Freyja's mouth fell open. "All that time and this is the best you can come up with? Shadowmere could tell a better lie and that's without speaking in our tongue."

"It is the truth."

"You know, for a god of dragons, you are an awful liar. I would have thought that managing your power mad priests and ambitious underlings would have taught you a thing or two but clearly I've overestimated—"

"Be quiet."

"What? Now you are being offensive. I—"

And then she clearly heard it too. It sounded like dull thunder and drumbeats. For a moment, both of them listened, heads up and tilted slightly to the side, one almost a perfect reflection of the other. "Horses," she whispered. Then they moved. Freyja grabbed her sword and dagger, Alduin snatched the Nightingale blade from the corner where he had left it and pulled her back against him.

"Let go of me," she hissed, trying to elbow him away. "And for the love of Mara, put some clothes on."

"They're still wet," he murmured, eyes on the ceiling. "_Laas._"

"Fine. You die naked then. I'm going to put on my armour."

"I thought you said they would never find this place. There are twenty of them, all on horseback."

The thundering of galloping horses grew louder and by the time Alduin pulled on his damp clothes, the soldiers had arrived at the hut. By the time he got most of his armour on, they were yelling commands about searching the hut and the surrounding area. A band of ten split off westwards.

"Riverwood," Freyja whispered. "I told you they would go there."

"It is good to know that you are not wrong about everything." He winced when she ground her foot down on his. Luckily, he had just finished strapping on his boots. Both of them were huddled at the far end of the cellar which, to his dismay, meant that they were crammed between the Arcane Enchanter and the wooden door that led to the privy. "The smell might kill me first. Who used to own this place?"

"A witch named Anise. Stop talking."

"Did the smell kill her?"

"No, I did. Now shut up."

Above them, the thick boards creaked as soldiers trampled through the tiny hut. There was a low crash as something heavy was overturned; he guessed it was one of the beds and Alduin found himself holding his breath for reasons other than the privy.

"You know," he turned his face and they were so close that her soft hair brushed his nose, "I did not lie with Narri."

"Yes you did. Can we please move on?"

"As soon as you accept that I am telling the truth, you thick-headed woman."

"I'll accept it if I'm ever in another man's room and alone with him, and you believe me when I say we've only been reading."

"Upon Akatosh's name, I did not bed her. I find her repulsive."

That got Freyja's attention. "You're swearing it upon the chief of the Nine."

"I am Firstborn. Do you think I know not the importance of such an oath? I do not make it lightly. And as dragons, our vows in his name hold more weight and are more serious in his eyes. They must be true, they cannot be broken."

This time, she turned and Alduin could feel the warmth of her steady breath so close to him. It was almost unbearable. Then Freyja swallowed and lowered her gaze, breaking the spell. "Alright, I believe you."

"For as long as we are together on this journey, there will be no other women apart from you. I may not believe in the marriage vows of mortals, but neither would I count it entertainment to humiliate you amongst those we encounter."

She seemed as though she would speak, but in the end, she ended up muttering a quick "thank you" before turning away fully.

"Freyja, I trust that in return, you will not be giving me the chance to eviscerate any man stupid and unfortunate enough to cast his eye on you."

"Were you asking or telling me?"

"What do you think?"

"You pompous dragon. No, there will be no other men, alright?"

He smiled then, satisfied. No other men, and that would include a certain red-haired mewling quim whom he had beaten soundly. Overhead, the soldiers seemed to be done tearing the place apart, for their steps soon faded and were replaced by the sounds of horses galloping away. Everything, as far as Alduin was concerned, was going perfectly.


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man...

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Well, bless the Muse and more importantly, Mr Hiddleston for making an appearance as Loki at the SDCC. I think that's mostly responsible for this quick update. My Muse loves Loki; her ovaries are his and she gave him mine too while she was at it. I blame her for the horrendous frequency of Alduin sans shirt/clothes in this story. _

_TertiusArmada: Thank you for reviewing! And I feel very happy that one of the reasons why you like this is because of the plot. I definitely have planned this out and thought it through, but one never knows how it will be received until it's out there. I hope you enjoy this update. Duesal10: Thank you so very much! I rewrote that last chapter about five times and I'm glad it has paid off. Well, Freyja will remember the entire night, all in good time and when Alduin wants her to. So, there's a slight spoiler there and I should stop now. Harmoniedusoir:*L* I could not resist the 'mewling quim' reference. It was begging to be used, especially yes, when Bryn is a redhead. There's another line I am itching to use, being a Jaime and Loki fangirl. Hopefully I can write that in. But I really want to thank you for your comments about the inclusion of humour in this story. It really made my day, especially since sometimes, trying to coax the lines out is like squeezing blood from a stone. :) ArchangelofDragons: Thank you for your kind comments! No worries, they won't be caught in the hut. Alduin and Freyja have matters to thrash out so for now, they are staying free. Cowberry: Yes, yes it most definitely was. MetaLucario: Giant holding cell...hmmm...you are giving me ideas. WingedLionSpirit: Well, horses always are one of the worst hit species when it comes to casualties. Nope, Freyja has only ever had Shadowmere, because he can look after himself. As for Solstheim, I am ignoring the whole Dragonborn arc Bethesda included because this story and some of the lore I built on was done before Dragonborn came out. It's too late to change that so I'll just stay with the story as I planned it. As for Freyja's past, there will be bits and pieces, so do wait for that. Polaris-Lolita: Of course I know what it means. I am nerdy that way. The best modern translation for it is "whining c**t". But 'mewling quim' sounds a lot classier. I am also superficial that way. :P OnnaMusha: To use another Loki quote, "that was the plan". Julie5: Thank you for leaving so many reviews and for being detailed at that! I really do appreciate the time spent. HuntressofSacredDreams: Well, I'm glad you gave this story a shot and it worked out. I hope you like this update! ThePersonWithTheReallyLongName: Thank you so much Emma. Actually I didn't know this story would become as long as it did but it felt right to take it in this direction, even if it meant poring over lore and daydreaming during work or while on the bus home. It means a lot to know you've enjoyed this story so much. _

**DRAGONREND **

**XXXIII.**

Finally, the last of the hoofbeats faded from hearing range and a second Shout confirmed that the only life forms about were a bear that had just come up over a low sloping hill and a fox that was darting away. Apart from that, there was not a soul out there.

"They're gone now," I said. Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the brutal ride through the night on Shadowmere, or just the fact that I was getting old—not that I knew exactly how many summers I had spent on Nirn. The point was, the muscles in my lower back, thighs and calves had passed out from groaning in pain because they were beginning to feel blessedly numb. A lot of that had to do with the fact that I was crouched down at an unnaturally low angle, and squeezed into an exceedingly tight corner between the Arcane Enchanter, which I was practically half under, and Alduin, who did not seem inclined to move his great bulk and make way for me.

"Finally. How long does it take for ten men to ascertain that we were not hiding anywhere in that pathetic excuse of a shelter above?"

"Apparently the Imperials believe in being awfully thorough. I think we can safely say that the coast is clear." This time, I shifted an elbow and wiggled it slightly against his side, hoping he would take the hint.

"We are not near the sea and the largest body of water anywhere is that wretched river you made me wade through."

Apparently dragons did not do very well with hints. Or maybe it was just this one.

"It's a figure of speech. Now move yourself and let me up. My back is killing me and I think my legs have lost all feeling in them."

I knew I shouldn't but I could not help but steal a glance at him. He was smirking even as he did as I requested. 'Why am I not surprised?' I thought sourly. And then I yelped as Alduin reached down, slipped an arm under my arms and around my back, and proceeded to haul me to my feet. Unsurprisingly, my traitorous knees buckled and as I grabbed for his shoulders, the firm weight of his arm around me tightened and I felt his other hand slide around my waist. I was back once again in the same position as I had been seconds before, with every inch of me pressed so closely against him that there was no room for even air to pass between us. Except that instead of our sides, it was the front of my body that was plastered against his, our gazes locked together until he blinked and I managed to tear my eyes away.

My face was so hot I wouldn't have been surprised if it spontaneously combusted within the next few seconds. As it was, I was silently giving thanks to the Nine Divines for the two sets of armour wedged firmly between us. If not, I just might have already burst into flames. The ring on my finger winked brighter than any normal gem ought to have and it was a wicked reminder that the man who held me was by all the laws of the land, my husband. My husband who was my sworn enemy turned reluctant companion, who also happened to be devastatingly attractive and whom I felt... something for. I would be a fool to lie to myself and say I felt nothing. 'Something' was a safe word, a vague word. The less I thought about it, the better. This was not the time or place for ruminating about my feelings for him.

"You mortals. Such frail creatures," Alduin muttered.

"Speaking for yourself?" I shot back, but my words lacked any real bite and when Alduin made a scoffing sound, I could not think of a fitting rejoinder. "I think you can let me go now."

"I never thought I would see the day when you would willingly collapse at my feet, Dovahkiin."

"Well, the Arcane Enchanter is right behind us, so I suppose I could do my collapsing on that—" And mortifyingly, I yelped again as he lifted me with humiliating ease and dropped me on said Enchanter. My hands hit the grooved wooden surface and my fingers brushed against several bottles, sending them rolling. Right, so that was where I had left the remaining potions to dry. Then Alduin leaned down and I forgot everything except the subconscious need to breathe when I realised that he was not just currently invading my personal space, he was also standing between my parted thighs, hands still draped on my hips.

'Oh _gods_.' The thought was so loud it seemed to resound through the room and I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep my mouth shut for fear that the words would spill out.

Finally, he stopped bare inches from my face. I made myself look him in the eye because anything less would make me seem like a coward but instinct was sounding a clarion call for me to retreat. If I could have climbed the wall behind me, I would have.

"As you wish, Freyja."

And with that, he stepped back and into the shadows. I could hear him make his way to the corner he had vacated. I listened as he proceeded to take off his armour, the sound of buckles and ties being undone uncannily loud in the thick silence of the cellar. When I heard the soft rustle of damp cloth, I stopped listening and managed to wrench my mind back under control before it could imagine Alduin taking off his shirt and breeches.

Quietly, I leaned against the wall and blocked out everything except for the soothing chill of the rough surface pressed to my flushed temple. Nothing mattered, there was nothing but the cold and the pricking sensation that ran like jolts of muted fire up and down my legs as I rotated my ankles, stretched out my calf muscles, straightened my limbs. Gradually, the knots of tension in my belly relaxed and my heart seemed far less inclined than it was before to ram its way out from beyond my ribs. Only then did I emerge from the shell of calm I had buried myself in. Scents registered again, the sound of distant dripping somewhere resumed, along with the faint creak of old wood beneath the weight of my body.

I was tired, far more so than I had realised. Several things had become quite clear though, making their way to the surface once the riot of my mind had stilled. The first was that Alduin had not told me the entire truth. He was being entirely too familiar with me, given that the last physical contact we had had just before Falkreath consisted of a brief holding of hands. And prior to that, he had always kept his distance. The second was that Alduin might not be as unaffected by our marriage as he appeared to be. Sometimes, reasons obscured and the effects of actions were where the true answers lay. There was no denying that he had secured a wife who was obliged to be faithful to him, if in name only. Perhaps it was Sanguine's intention to use the marriage as a catalyst, to throw oil on troubled waters.

'And he knows, he has to know.' Therein, perhaps, lay the worst of all that had occurred. 'I chose him, I chose him even though there were others.' Naturally I was grateful not to have awakened in bed with some stranger, but that was little consolation because now Alduin knew for certain that I cared enough to marry him, never mind that I had been under the influence—Daedric, to be specific. Even I hadn't known, and that was what threatened to quietly tear me apart. Why would I, when I had not dared to think too deeply on such a matter? 'An exercise in futility,' I thought dully. 'What is the use when either he or I must die in the end?' The heart was an unruly beast and experience had taught me that its assaults could be ignored, managed, subdued, kept from influencing my decisions.

'Nothing has changed. Nothing must change.' Whatever else that had been or was to be, I would not lose sight. It was a silent oath I swore as I slid myself off the enchanting station and made my slow, stiff way back to my original corner. Taking great care not to see him, I stretched out on my side and facing the wall, closed my eyes and waited for sleep.

* * *

><p>It had been a mistake.<p>

Alduin barely tasted the meat he was chewing, not that it was anything but stringy and salty, which seemed to be the diet he was going to be damned to for an eternity, if the past weeks were anything to go by. Most of his attention, if not all of it, was focused on the woman who was sitting directly in his line of sight, her face smoothed into that neutral mask she had been wearing from the time he had woken, to the current meal that he was eating, and the book that she was reading by magelight on either side of the wall of silence she had built between them.

Sleep had taken a long time to find Freyja and Alduin had basked in the warmth of that knowledge. She had been unsettled, very much so. Her eyes may have been slates of cold frost when he had leaned down over her but the fact that she had not struck him spoke volumes. After all, dragons did not ordinarily tolerate being cornered. He knew his Dragonborn and he knew that she wanted him too. More importantly, he had made her aware of just how much, and that, if she did not already know for certain, her desire was reciprocated.

Unfortunately, the strategy seemed to have backfired. Freyja had barely spoken to him when he had woken up. It had not been that long ago but her stubborn silence had first worn his patience thin before shredding it into minute pieces. And while she was assiduously avoiding eye contact with him, she was almost hyperaware of his movements. If he even seemed to as much as turn in her direction, she shifted subtly such that she was in a position to meet him should he attempt anything.

'Fight or flight,' Alduin thought grimly, tearing off another chunk of meat and swallowing it quickly after a few quick chews. He had no appetite but this human body had no qualms about making its needs known and hunger drove him to eat. Perhaps he ought to have taken her on the enchanting table. She might have struggled, but in the end, she would have submitted when desire overwhelmed her. The thought of Freyja warm and willing and beneath him as she writhed in his arms with her soft moans lacing the darkness fanned his body to life with heated vengeance. After all, it was fantasy fuelled by experienced reality. Alduin shifted uncomfortably on the spot, wishing he could loosen the ties of his breeches and felt his ire at the Dragonborn rise even higher. For the first and only thing Freyja had willingly spoken to him about was the fact that his clothes had dried and that he should put them on immediately.

"It is rather late for you to start feeling shy now," he had teased. His only response had been a noncommittal shrug and silence that set off an instinct which warned something was wrong.

When he had asked what time of the day it was, she replied, "Afternoon." When he asked how she knew, she had simply said, "I checked." He had asked whether she had rested well and for that, all she gave was a nod. An inquiry as to whether she wanted to eat together garnered a single, "No, thank you", and then Freyja had proceeded to dig around the bookshelf until she retrieved a book that had dried sufficiently for her to read. When he asked, in an audibly annoyed tone, about what she was reading, Freyja muttered, "The Herbalist's Guide to Skyrim" without even blinking. Given her obvious disinterest in plants beyond admiring flowers and leaves for their beauty, and her confessed hopelessness at cooking and making potions, Alduin gathered that the only reason why she had her nose buried in the book was to avoid conversing with him. That was when he had silently lost his temper. The worse part was not being able to vent it on her or anything.

"Why do you even have that book?" he snapped, finishing off the last of his food.

Without missing a beat, she flipped a page with her left hand, cast another bobbing mass of light to replace the one that was fading with her right, and answered him in the same breath. "So that I know what plants are inedible."

"With your cooking, I fail to see how that knowledge would be of use."

She did not even bother to look up, the bright incandescent light turning her pale hair to almost pure silver. Alduin briefly contemplated doing some manner of violence to her but gave up when the best he could come up with inevitably led to angry mating on the floor of the cellar. Or the Arcane Enchanter. Or the walls. 'Or as Narri called it, fucking.'

None of which, of course, was helping his situation at all, either with Freyja or with the damned constricted feeling in his breeches. He would not have minded so much, but thanks to Freyja, he now knew the relief that could be found and suddenly he realised he was staring very intently at her mouth.

Suddenly, the cellar, which had already been much too small for his liking, seemed more like a burial vault. He had to get out. The Nightingale blade and his sword belt were the only things he took; he could not bear the thought of being weighted down and caged in cold steel.

"Where are you going?" she finally asked when he was halfway up the ladder.

"How do I open the damned hatch?" he growled.

"You shouldn't go outside. There might be a scout or two keeping a lookout—"

"Tell me how to open it or I am going to cut my way out."

"Alduin—"

The sharp whisper of a blade against its sheath was his only response.

"Push at the two corners, the ones directly above the sides of the ladder."

The fresh air and sunlight that came in through the broken boards and window felt almost as welcomed as they did when he had first tumbled back into Nirn. Climbing out, he shut the hatch with a vicious slam and wished he could just as easily lock away the woman he had left behind.

Whatever remained of the hut could simply be summed up as a wreck; the bed was broken and the shelves had been pulled down and left in pieces on the floor. For a moment, Alduin wished some soldiers had remained behind. Not because he was upset at what they had done, but because he needed something to break as well.

He was at the fringe of the forest when he heard the warning growl. Then, the bear stepped out into plain view. Its thick brown fur bristled and when it snarled, he could see bloodstains on yellow teeth half as long as his hand. In the thick glow of the low afternoon sun, the Nightingale blade glittered like starlight wrapped in night. And Alduin smiled.

... ... ...

Red clouded the water as he washed his hands and face. Pushing up blood-splattered sleeves, he scrubbed off the thin crusted layer of scarlet until his skin was clean. Cool dampness trickled down the back of his neck. It felt good.

Sitting back on his haunches, Alduin stared out at the lake. It was easily the largest in Skyrim, and when not whipped into a frothing frenzy by the storm, it sat as serene and undisturbed as a mirror. The sun, now making its way behind the mountains, gilded the deceptively solid-looking surface of the water in rippling shades of dying light.

After the bear, there had been wolves and he had slain all three beneath the watching trees. Then he had walked, bloodlust sated by his kills but wishing for the sky above, to run with the sun, to fly and lay waste to mountains the way he once had.

Waiting, wooing did not sit well with him. Alduin expelled a long breath, easing the sense of frustration that returned whenever his thoughts drifted to the Dragonborn. In truth, he had practised little of the former and none of the latter. Such soft rituals were not for the Dov; they took what they wanted and if a Dovah did not welcome the advances of another, there would be battle. Either one became the spoil of such a fight or very often, paid for defeat with one's life. But he was Alduin and no female had ever gainsaid him. To say that Freyja's behaviour vexed him was a terrible understatement.

The question to ask though was not why. He knew why.

Alduin watched the blue dartwings—he had laughed when Freyja told him these tiny creatures bore the name dragon—as they skimmed over the surface of the lake, unaware of the solid shadows that swam just beneath them. Then a fish struck, a bolt of mottled silver and grey trailing a spray of droplets behind it as it caught a dartwing in mid-air, swallowing it whole before plunging back into the lake. The rest of the dragonflies scattered.

In the end, it always came back to destiny, to duty. And Freyja who longed to fly from this land, who learnt to love it through the people she cared for, who knew nothing of herself save that she had to stop him, Freyja was above all dutiful. More than others, she would understand what it meant.

A long time ago, he too had done his duty. Each world had known him by the same name, and when the cycle was complete, he came to devour every one of them. Stars splintered, the deep darkness grew, suns flickered as black wings snatched their flames, and the veins of each world grew cold and dead as he stopped their hearts. But from the dead came life and the energies spent in creation returned to their creators. And after a time, when the universe had grown too still, and the Aedra too restless, a new world would be born.

He had coveted this world. He who had been made to destroy had learnt to love to build. He had forgotten what he was.

In the shadow of the broken temple high on the mountain above him, Alduin bowed his head and thought on his father's words. Akatosh had always been right. He had defied destiny to the ruin of his kind. The lands that he would have made his kingdom were slowly falling apart. Now, he would make it right.

And when Freyja understood this, she would give him this world.


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man...

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: The Muse is in overdrive and there are two reasons why. Firstly, the second trailer of Thor: The Dark World is out! And I downloaded it. So now I am missing my ovaries but who cares. Secondly, this story has just entered the last third of its stages of completion and now that the end is visible, at least to me, I think I just want it out. That said, I'm now exhausted and can no longer ignore all the work that real life has been so nicely piling up for me. The next chapter will be a big one and it will take a little more time I think. So in the meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this! Also, I've used a line of Loki's here so see if you can spot it. Lastly, the translation for the dream Shout is 'Life, Mirror, Mind'. Hiraphor helped with it as well, so thank you!_

_MissFabulous09: Actually, I think you have before. But no matter, it's always a pleasure to hear from you. Thank you so very much for all the lovely things you wrote. This is my first sustained attempt at writing adventure with an OC and my knees were shaking actually when I first began. But I am so glad readers have taken to it, and that you guys let me know! Duesal10: Mmm, well, I don't want to spoil anything but if this chapter doesn't answer it or give you an inkling about what Freyja might be up to, then PM me and let's have a chat. :) And thank you for the compliment about Freyja! She's my first OC and it means a great deal to me to know I've managed to flesh her out realistically. Thedarkeuphie: I think that's what would make it interesting yeah? At least I hope so. The Dragonborn and World-Eater wanting the same thing but at the same time, still at cross-purposes. MeridiaLadyofLight: Firstly, thank you! And secondly, my muse is definitely not shy. She made me dip my toes in the kinkmeme box. I've certainly thought about writing those kind of scenes for Alduin and Freyja. I suppose it might happen, if it feels right and fits in with the story. Laluzi: Oh my gosh! It's you! I laughed until I had tears when I read "Real Vampires Don't Sparkle" and I don't know TES: Oblivion all that well and I've never touched the Twilight series. I've also committed the cardinal sin of not reviewing; I could have sworn I did. I will rectify that at once. TruthDawnsinFire: *L* You made me laugh out loud when I read that. Well, good things come to those who wait. Alduin will just have to hang in there a mite longer. ItalianEmpress1985: Ah yes, the tedium of doing research by looking at endless photos of the sources of our inspiration. I totally feel you. :P And I love your long reviews, feel free to send them my way. They make me think and make me want to better my writing. And I have been listening to GOT soundtracks while writing actually! Gah, it's uncanny. All the best with your giant fictions! Go get 'em. Sparkybones: Yay! You did it. Well, "Silence, my brother" is never going to work for Freyja and Alduin. I hope you like this chapter. MetaLucario:Oh wow, you really do like him and I must say you've been very creative with the attempts to join him. I haven't tried half that stuff, though I confess to simply beating on Delphine and Esbern for being asses about Parthurnaax. I feel very flattered, so thank you! Galaxytrain: You too made me laugh out loud. Alduin seems to have an army rooting for him to get some action. Zute: Zute! I missed you. That How-to Guide is certainly worth bringing up again; let me see if I can work that in. And I'm glad you liked that scene. I was trying to be all meaningful imagery and symbolism-like. :P It's too bad I'm a terrible artist because when I read your comment about Alduin failing to eat Helgen, I had this picture in my mind of cute baby Alduin in angry tears with a half-eaten Helgen in pieces around him. I think deviantart is getting to me. _

**DRAGONREND **

**XXXIV.**

'Well, that went well,' I thought dully, fingers resting on the crease of a page that I failed to turn the moment the sharp slam of the hatch sliced through the cellar. In spite of every instinct, every sense of precaution that shouted at me to fetch Alduin or at least, to follow him, I made myself keep still. He was playing a game, or at least he had been. And now that I had declared I wanted to stay out of it, Alduin was furious.

_Aldin is very fond of you... you are not helping by either refusing to look at or speak to him._

The memory of Sinding's words and the knowing smile that had accompanied them made me wince. The book slipped from my hands, stirring dust as it settled on the floor. "Whatever made you think the silent treatment would help?" I groaned aloud, listening to the frustration in my own voice. The magelight hovered gently several feet above and through the intense rays that it threw against the darkness, I saw the Arcane Enchanter and felt a familiar smoulder stain my cheeks. There was also that particular kind of frustration that had not quite settled down in spite of the hours that had passed.

"You are... were the Guildmaster in training. And you are the Listener, like it or not. Can't you figure this out?" My only reply was the faint scratching sound my boot made as I scuffed it on the ground, feeling the pressure on the ball of my heel. Obviously, another solution had to be found, and fast if we were going to survive the next two days cooped up here. If matters continued this way, someone's temper was bound to ignite and swords would probably be the first things we reached for. Although how it would end... "Stop looking at the damned enchanting station, Freyja." When the magelight sputtered out, I let the darkness remain.

Guildmaster. Listener.

Thief. Assassin.

I could relieve a man of his purse so quickly that if he felt anything at all, it would seem merely the breath of a light wind that passed by. Of course, I'd never quite mastered the art of doing that anyplace that contained more than a fair number of people. Brynjolf on the other hand, had dazzled me as he sauntered down a crowded street in Markarth, lifting purses from men and women with the same ease that one used to pluck flowers from the roadside. He kissed a woman's hand and blinded her with his smile so that she never felt the sapphire ring slide from her finger. "Show off," I grumbled when he finally joined me at the corner from which I had been watching, so heavy with ill-gotten gains I could swear I heard the musical chink of septims when he moved.

It was in the Cistern's training room that Brynjolf first touched my unmarked left palm and placed a dagger in it. I knew how to slip it up a gauntlet, to hide it in a sleeve. I learnt to dance with both hands as we circled each other in the room. I thought I had learnt everything there was to know about armed combat.

Astrid taught me otherwise. One night she took me down with her bare hands and as I lay there panting, sword somewhere beyond the field of my vision and with her boot on my neck, I knew I had come to the right place to grow stronger. From Babette I learnt to soak my blades in poison, to coat my gloves in potions that dried but left a deadly untraceable layer on the surface. Nazir occasionally dropped a cryptic tip or two that would fully make sense only when I planned my kills. Gabriella told me the best assassins were often the best liars and so I studied the art of turning my face into many masks, to go from a hunched stoop and a grotesque limp to a swagger within the space of a stride, how to study and read human flesh, to listen for the words that went unspoken. She used to bring me with her on jobs, more so after I received the Night Mother's approval. We would sit at inns or on the rooftops and she would make me tell her about the people we watched. Her questions flew like arrows. Who was in love? Who hated whom? The man standing there, what was it that ailed him? Which guest did the innkeeper like best and why?

Unfortunately, none of that was going to help me deal with Alduin and my current predicament. 'Not yet anyway.' It was a grim thought, filled with wailing winds that scoured mountain peaks. And blood. On the ice, on the snow. It would come down to that, eventually. And as for my thieving skills, there was nothing that they could be applied to here.

_You're not looking hard enough._

The echo of the Dunmer assassin's gentle voice jerked me out of the drowsy spell which had crept over me. Needless to say, I hadn't slept well at all. Bryn had said something similar to me once before, when I had been an utter greenhorn at stealing. Or planting. It had taken me two attempts before I managed to drop the ring into Brand-Shei's pocket and by the time I was through, a sheen of cold sweat covered my brow and neck.

"Not looking," I muttered. So what was it I was failing to see?

Confessing was always the hardest step. I had never spoken of having no past, no memory, no family. The reason why I always cut my hair to the exact length as when I had first seen it; perhaps one day, somebody would come to Skyrim and recognise me. Then, I would have a way home.

It had been my secret until the day a dragon had landed just outside Riften. Brynjolf and I had been mere steps from the gate. That day, he had watched me breathe fire and heard my other name spill from the jaws of a dying legend as we hacked away at its heart and throat. When he didn't pry, I knew I could trust him. Perhaps that was when I first started to love him. Still, it had taken several beers and a one-sided conversation about his past before I managed to prise open my lips and make myself speak.

"That wasn't too hard now, was it?" Bryn had quipped finally when, after several botched tries that punctuated a long silence, I managed to force all of three terse sentences out. I just looked at him. And then we laughed. He'd always been able to make me laugh, no matter what.

Still, I wondered if Bryn would find any humour to salvage if he were here to listen to this. "I don't want to kill him. I don't want to." Just saying it out loud made it more real, the fierce twisting in my chest a testament to that.

Alone, I tipped my head back, staring up into the darkness. So how was I to save the world then? Every dragon I had ever fought and slain had always been a step towards that final battle; in each face I saw his and with every soul I took, I visualised his death. I was going to stop him. That goal would never change.

What needed changing then was how I was going to go about it. Every good thief and assassin, meaning those who grew wealthier in septims and older in years, knew that studying one's mark paid off. Knowing which routes they took, what food they ate and where, who held grudges against them, secret lovers. All that could be found out eventually with hard work and patience.

Up until that moment, it had never occurred to me to study Alduin. I had been so busy wrapped up with defending my heart and controlling my desires. I had been so sure of the prophecy. But the Shout had changed everything, perhaps in ways that even gods and Elder Scrolls could not account for.

I still had no idea what had changed for Alduin between the time just before Falkreath and now, when we were hiding in this cellar. When he had sat me down on that enchanter he had made quite blatantly obvious what he had once tried so hard to conceal. Eventually, I would find out why. But what was clear was that more than Alduin's body had been transformed. I shivered as I recalled the touch of his hands on me, felt the gentle pressure of his fingers as they pressed against leather ghost over my skin again, saw golden eyes that threatened to melt my bones and leave me in a puddle on the floor. He cared for me. Even if Sanguine and I had forced him into an unwanted marriage, he did want me.

And that was the key. It had to be.

It was an utterly insane path that my instincts were pointing me down, the same instincts that Alduin was so adamant were born of dragon blood. Vilkas would have barked at me and called me a brainless pup. Aela would probably have just laughed herself silly. Lydia, patient stoic Lydia, would have calmly asked me to reconsider and not betrayed a whisper of her exasperation. As for Delphine and Esbern, if they ever did begin hunting dragons again, I was quite sure I would be second only to Alduin on their kill list. Only Babette might have been intrigued with the possibility and that was because she was so old that the world had gotten boring. Well, not that I had ever heard her give voice to that complaint after the Dark Brotherhood's near-purge by the Empire. The Daedric Princes would probably be delighted and all I needed was Sheogorath to appear and endorse the madness of it all.

"Is it madness? Is it?" There was no reply. But to put this alternative away would certainly mean a battle on High Hrothgar that I was not willing to face, at least not without a fight. That would be the last resort, one I would go to with a cold heart and clear mind, knowing that I had exhausted every other possibility. There would be no mercy then, for either him or myself.

When we had placed the Eyes of the Falmer on the shelf behind the Guildmaster's table, Bryn had sighed. "You know lass," he said sadly as we both stared in awe at the massive gems. "There might never be another job to top this one."

Well, just for that alone, I genuinely wished Brynjolf was here so that I could see his face when I told him I was going to steal the heart of the World-Eater.

... ... ...

Unfortunately, it was a lot easier to hatch a crazy scheme than it was to see it through. 'Or just to get it started, for that matter.'

Briefly, I wondered if Niruin had ever gotten his plans to set up a brothel off the ground. It would have been interesting, to watch him run around the Cistern while Brynjolf threw daggers at him. Sapphire would probably stand guard over the exit, just to prolong the fun. But then again, who was I to point fingers, really?

Alduin had returned only after nightfall, his clothes wet and bloodstained, black hair slicked back and clinging to the tops of his shoulders and the nape of his neck in a way that made me want to lick my lips and bite down on something. It was quite clear that he had just had a bath and it would not have been too farfetched to say that the sudden flash of heat that coiled in the pit of my belly would have been enough to start a fire. So I closed my eyes, thought about the one time Babette had tricked me into eating a mixture of vampire dust and giants' toes, and felt the dragon soul inside of me calm down. 'Great, just one more thing to worry about.' Apparently, deciding that I was not going to rebuff Alduin's advances and subtly encourage them was like waving a red flag in front of my Dovah Sil and giving it free rein to jump his bones. It was a blessing that for the moment, he was content to be quiet, eat whatever remained of the salted rabbit, and go to sleep.

The force of my baser appetites was a depressing thought to dwell on. Dragons had been worshipped as gods. They were as advanced and cultured as the best civilisations, according to Hela Thrice-versed. And yet nothing excited a Dovah like the primal prospect of power and the thrill of a kill. Prey that fought back was the sweetest and Gaius Maro had learnt that in the shadows of the docks as I bore him down, my dagger in his throat, cutting away at him with my words as I whispered in intimate detail the way his son had died and the things that I was going to do to his Emperor. Dragons were a terribly vengeful lot and I had been no different in the days when I had served as Sithis' dragon.

Reading about feted Dragonborns of the past had not been exactly comforting either. Talos and Reman Cyrodiil had distinguished themselves on the field of battle; they had clearly craved conquest. Alessia had fought for freedom and all this left me feeling just as divided about my nature as I had felt before embarking on the research. The only one who made me feel somewhat hopeful was Martin Septim, the most peace loving of the lot, but even he had been drawn into a war against supernatural forces and had died saving the world from Mehrunes Dagon. When I made comparisons between his fate and mine, it didn't exactly bode well for my long-term future.

'And speaking of potential ends to that long term future...' I watched as Alduin stirred before settling on his side and falling completely still once again. He was sound asleep and I was a bundle of nerves who had suffered through intermittent bouts of what could hardly be called rest. I couldn't even read to soothe myself, thanks to Alduin who complained about my use of magelight. My suggestion that he simply face the wall had been met with a disgruntled growl and a threat to dispose of my books with dragon fire. In return, I had threatened to introduce him to the bottom of the Ilinalta and that exchange marked the end of our first day in the cellar.

The prospect of passing the next two days in this state was unthinkable. A quick look from the hatch revealed the stars were still shining, although less brightly because the sky was a shade more blue than black. 'Perfect.' For even dragons that couldn't fly needed to stretch their metaphorical wings.

* * *

><p>His first thought was that she had left him. Alduin sat up so swiftly that his spine protested with a series of sharp cracks that left him wincing. The gap left by her absence was one that had grown more acute and it had been the first thing to register itself on his senses, even before he had opened his eyes. The sight of her belongings though, reassured him otherwise.<p>

It was not the marriage that had done this; no mortal vow could bind dragons. Alduin reached up and touched the tender spot on his neck, fingers gliding over the healing abrasions, remnants of Freyja's bite. Nothing short of a Thu'um was going to heal that, save time, and he was surprised that she had yet to discover its presence on her skin. The aches and pains caused by their escape from the Imperials were slowly fading and it would be a matter of time before she found it and demanded to know exactly what he had done to her.

'Well, you started it first.' Picking up one of the water-skins they had left on the alchemy station, he swirled the cool water in his mouth and swallowed. Yes, that would go down perfectly well with Freyja, he thought sarcastically. And it would also go down quickly into the depths of Oblivion because she would then ask why he did not stop her, and how was he to stop her when she had tied him up and tempted him beyond reason while he warred with his very nature against the blinding need to take what she was offering—

The nearly inaudible brush of boots on the boards above swiftly interrupted his little soliloquy. Soft light—dawn's light—filled the entrance of the cellar and Alduin took another drink, if only to hide the unwanted and ridiculous surge of relief he felt now that she had returned. He wanted to ask where she had gone, but pride and the sting of the day before kept his mouth shut. 'So much for wooing,' a voice that sounded very much like Odahviing's quipped. It was all he could do not to scowl at the unwanted thought.

"Here." Alduin blinked as Freyja came to him, holding out a knotted bundle. "I saw some hunters and they happened to have some—"

"Apples." The subtle sweet scent of what was his favourite fruit reached his nose.

"They only had three but I thought it was better than nothing." Freyja's smile was tentative and in it, he read an apology. She should have been grovelling at his feet for forgiveness. It was quite disgusting how weak she had made him but he could not bring himself to ask for more. Not that Freyja would give it. If she did, it would be at the end of her blade or maybe her fist.

"It is," he said shortly. "Would you like one?"

"Yes. Thank you." She didn't flinch when their fingers brushed. Neither did she attempt to scoot away when he settled down next to her and handed her the fruit.

Alduin arched an eyebrow as he watched the Dragonborn bite into the apple. Apparently, she had changed her mind. As to why, he was most curious to find out. "So we are on speaking terms again."

Freyja flushed slightly. "Apparently silence isn't always going to open the right doors. Besides, it will be an awfully long two days down here if we had nothing to say to each other."

"True enough."

"So why don't you ask me the question that's been on your mind since I showed you the apples?"

There was a twinkle in her eye that was so unexpected it drew a faint smile from him. "I thought nobody was supposed to know we were here. You bought these apples—"

"In a manner of speaking." Suddenly, Freyja reminded him of the proverbial dragon that had found a gold mine it could hoard all to itself. "And I said I saw them, not that I met them."

"You stole from them."

"I filched the apples but left some coin. As the professional thief here, trust me when I say that's not stealing."

"For how long have you been a thief?"

A rueful smile touched her lips and she took another bite. He could hear the muted crunch of the fruit between her teeth. "For almost as long as I've been in Skyrim. I'm pretty good too, although I have to say Brynjolf is definitely better when it comes to pickpocketing. The last time I saw him, he was still capable of giving me some very nasty knocks."

The mention of Brynjolf had wiped any pleasure from his expression. Apparently, there was no way to be completely rid of the man. "He hit you?" And she had flung herself into his arms and kissed him. Alduin felt himself growing more upset by the minute.

For a moment, she looked at him blankly. "Well yes but—oh no, he didn't hit me, not like that," she hastily corrected, looking somewhat horrified. "It was just practice. Training. I didn't know much about using a sword and Bryn taught me how to defend myself, how to really fight. He would never hurt me."

"He loved you," he said abruptly. It had been on the tip of his tongue to say 'You loved him' but it would have been too strange a statement to make, given what little she had said and all that he was not supposed to know. And it would not have been a statement, more like an accusation. As it was, he sounded entirely hostile even to his own ears. To stop himself from really saying something stupid, Alduin decided to attack his apple instead. It was also a way of ignoring the speculative look Freyja shot him.

"He did," she finally replied and Alduin wished the apple were Brynjolf's heart. "Not the way you think though. Not the way I wanted him to." Then she shrugged lightly. "But that's all in the past. What does it matter?"

It certainly mattered when it was not far back enough in the past for him. There was nothing more he could say though, not when Freyja had already shared more of her history than he had expected her to. And the less she said about Brynjolf, the better.

"I have a question."

"You want to know why half of Falkreath burned to the ground." Juice spilled down his chin and Alduin wiped at it with the back of his hand. "I have no doubt that Legate Skulnar informed you about the nature of my crime."

"Actually, I have a theory as to why the guards might think that but I'd like to hear what happened from you." Freyja twirled the stem of apple between her thumb and forefinger, swirling the core in mid-air.

Only two days before and already it seemed so far away. 'Too far away.' In mortal form, his grasp on the currents of Time was slipping. "You could not be wakened and there were two Ancient ones circling the city. I used whatever means I had to dispose of them."

"You used the city as a shield."

"The welfare of the mortals was not my priority. Survival was, yours and mine. If they were hunting me, they would leave where I had left you unharmed. And as I am now, I could not meet them openly in battle." He could feel the drying juice sticking to his skin and resisted the urge to lick it off. Instead, he rubbed his hand against the sleeve of his shirt. It did not help much. "Tell me you have never thought of doing the same."

She had turned away and so he was free to watch her, to study her profile. Her brow was furrowed, and for a moment, she looked sad. "I have. I've never done it though. Then again, I've never faced two fire-breathing Ancient dragons at the same time."

"You would have drawn them out of the city?"

"Of course I would have," she replied, sounding somewhat insulted that he even doubted her.

"Why would you?"

"Why didn't you?"

The answer lay in their natures, or rather, the great difference between the two. And, unspoken, it echoed so loudly between them that Alduin wished he could somehow seize and shatter it, crush it to pieces. But some things were beyond even him.

"That just goes to show then," Freyja interjected lightly. "The Imperials got it wrong. As always."

He wanted to kiss her. It was a need as potent as any he had ever experienced. It bewildered him, for here was nothing of lust and something that far exceeded desire. Perhaps the world had already ended, for who could say why he would care so for the opinion of a mortal, why her refusal to judge felt like a boon, why a woman could offer apples as a bribe to a god, only for him to accept.

"The Stormcloaks aren't that far behind though, especially when it comes to making mistakes. It absolutely galls me to say this but the one faction that seems to be making all the right moves is the gods-damned Thalmor."

And because they both knew they needed the distraction, she spoke and he listened. So slowly, he learnt more about the sons of Skyrim; she gave faces and names to what he had only ever known as a prophecy. Cities and towns and settlements that were nothing more than brick and mortar and spoils of war became part of the stories she wove, bloomed in his mind as more than places on maps.

... ... ...

"Tell me about Bromjunaar."

Her request was surprising, to say the least. It pleased him greatly though. "You want to know about our ancient city?"

"Your ancient city," Freyja corrected and Alduin decided that he would allow her stubbornness to go unchecked, for the moment. "I wasn't even born then. The books don't say much."

"That is nothing surprising. None of the Jarls, as you name them, or Emperors have ever built a city surpassing Bromjunaar in greatness. Not even Talos; one would imagine that he should know protesting something with all his might does not make it come true. I would wager even the Elves—"

"Would never have been able to build anything half as magnificent. It's all a conspiracy by us jealous mortals to cover up achievements to which we couldn't even possibly aspire. You know, for a being that has lived an eternity, you are predictable."

In retaliation, he threw an apple core at her. It only made her laugh more.

"So what do you think it was like?"

She looked at him, head cocked to the side, knowing there was more there than a mere question. "I wouldn't know."

"Use your imagination Freyja," he said in an exaggerated tone of gentle patience that made it clear she was being rather slow.

"You are a toad."

"Dragon. Now tell me."

"Towers," she finally said. "It would have towers. The open kind, not sealed in with four walls but with platforms so that you could see the land from the North to the South, and the East to the West in a glance."

"Some were high enough so that you could see the oceans."

They were sitting so closely to each other that their shoulders almost touched. Alduin felt Freyja's surprised gaze on him, but he chose not to return it. "The walls of the city were white."

"But not plain though," she ventured when it was clear that he would say no more. "Carvings?"

"Statues and monuments, amongst others. The greatest dragons had their histories inscribed upon their personal towers and the parts of the city they were given charge over."

"Were there... did you put gold in the streets?

"The immediate roads to the temples were inlaid with gold. I had the rooftops of the palaces lined with rubies, sapphires and diamonds. Beneath the sun and moon, Bromjunaar would shine. Even in the worst storm, it glowed."

"The streets were wide enough for a dragon to walk, and no houses so high that they obscured the paths of flight." Her voice was clear but he heard the catch in it, the same longing he had sensed on a night when he had woken to find her trying to hold the stars in her hand.

"Fountains. There were fountains all around. Even in winter the waters would flow." She did not move when he shifted, turning to face her. "You want to see it."

"You already knew that."

"You have a Dovah Sil. And Bromjunaar was a city built for dragons, conceived by dragons. How could you not want to?" Gently, he touched her cheek; her skin felt like fire beneath his fingertips.

"_Laas Fiik Hah_."

When the Shout went through her, Freyja jerked sharply and grasped at him with frantic hands. Alduin caught her in his arms, wrapped her close against him as her wide glazed eyes fell shut and kissed her forehead with lips that ached for her mouth. She would see the best of the city of dragons, before a time when men grew too bold and his pride too great. It would be a dream that would never leave her. And if he were careful enough to put in place the rest of his plans, it would be a dream she would believe possible again.


	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man...

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Wow, I actually managed to get work done and write. The chapter's not finished but if I hadn't split it, it would have been enormous. Hence, the early update. Ehm, this particular chapter deals with some adult-type touching but not enough to warrant an M rating, so just be warned. Also, I would really like to hear from you, because I've been putting off this moment forever, and now that it's here, tell me what you think? Please? _

_Ny'kly: Thanks! And also for leaving a review. I appreciate it. :) Julie5: Why, thank you for being so generous with your comments, and for the details about what you liked! It really made my day to read your review. TruthDawnsinFire: Yes, he is awesome! I change my avatar because I like change and because in the name of research, I horde hot Loki pics and well, good things should be shared.*L* Duesal10: Aw, thanks! I enjoy writing and it's lovely to have people let me know they enjoyed reading it. Both parts are what make fanfiction so much fun and quite unique actually. As for Freyja's lack of memory, I am considering two different scenarios. It will be dealt with, more or less, towards the end of the story. I think I may be subconsciously leaving some room for a sequel or spinoff. It's a possibility. ServantofAgape: I was having Tolkienesque feels when I wrote that. I think I fell short though. But nevertheless , thank you. I hope you enjoy this particular development. :) WornSteel7: I actually went to listen to that song. I like it, I love Owl City! As for theme songs though, I actually kind of picked two already but never mentioned it. Now though, would seem appropriate. It's "Without You Here" by the Goo Goo Dolls. Taylor Swift's "State of Grace" comes in a very close second. Sparkybones: Erm, not exactly the chapter I thought it would be; the plot sort of ran away. I hope it's still alright though? Zute: Trust you to sum everything up about that chapter in one sentence! You are so right; she is a reluctant dragon and he, a reluctant human. Well, I wish it were a series too, if only to see Tom Hiddleston onscreen more often. *G* And yup, I am having an absolute ball here. But once I am done with this, I think I am going to spend some time on an original story that has been stewing for awhile now. WishingNova: Well, they are both in a way, concealing the truth. But that's dragons for you. As for when he finds out...that's a couple of chapters away. Thanks for sticking with this story! PintsizedSheBear: I'll confess, I liked that dialogue too. :P MetaLucario: Well, if I had a nickel for every time I made a Loki or Jaime reference...*L* Somewhat different ship but definitely the same boat. AssassinEzioAuditore: Please, no apologies needed. I can't even type that much on a phone. And it was a lovely review to read. Thank you for all the wonderful details you included. Seriously, reviews like these make my Muse jump up and get ready to go. And then I write. So yes, it certainly helped! _

**DRAGONREND **

**XXXV.**

It is not a fact that most mortals would know, even the priests that served him and catered to his every whim, him and those strong enough to take servants of their own.

Dragons dream.

They dream of tides and currents, of oceans of timeless stars that burn with Aedra fire, of the rise and fall of eternity that fluctuates and flows, that spins in a circle that moves ever on. In his dreams, Alduin has seen pasts that never were, futures that have been. Once he thought he might have seen through Time itself.

'The great empires are but a drop in these vast seas of being, mortal creatures the tiniest of sparks swallowed in the greatest of lights.' The words are as fresh in his mind as they were when he had spoken them to Parthurnaax, once his brother and closest confidante.

"And yet you wish to make a kingdom of your own and have them serve you." The skies were strange that day, thunderclouds woven with bright beams of sunlight, the air heavy with unshed lightning, the storm holding back its roars out of deference for the two gods perched on the mountain. Or so he had imagined. In the strange weather, Parthurnaax gleamed like a pale emerald.

"What is made by mortals must fall. It is in their nature. But we are dragons, and gods to them."

"And you a god to us."

Well, his kingdom had not stood. And mortals, in spite of their temporal victory over him, are still immeasurably frail in his sight. They are weak, worthy of scorn, all too easily dismissed. Their bodies perish and even their souls are unsaved from his reach.

He has never thought it would be possible to hold one of these in his arms, touch one of them with mortal hands and not fall into madness.

The hours have passed and Time itself has moved on as it always must. But here on the floor of this cellar, he can almost believe that it has stood still. Freyja lies in his arms, back pressed against his front, her face pillowed on an arm that has gone quietly numb because he does not want to wake her. He feels the length of her legs cradled against his with an acuteness that borders on agony, yet it pleases him sometimes to think that it is hard to know where he begins and she ends.

When she trembles lightly, he draws her tighter against him, as though he would anchor her through whatever flights the dream has taken her on.

He falls asleep to the feel of her hair against his cheek, to the disconcerting awareness that the weight and warmth of her in his arms is satisfying in a way that is new to one as old as he is. He wakes again, sleeps again, and through it all he dreams, as dragons do.

* * *

><p><em>Too soon... <em>

Beneath the song of the north wind, and the thunder of my wings, I could hear the people speaking, pointing. Some fell in worship as my shadow passed. All looked.

But the sun was too warm and as I rounded a tower and caught the wings of a stone dragon, the coils of my tail lashed the statue that felt softer than it ought to have been.

_Not yet..._

The temples that I had yet to explore beckoned, the smoke of the incense that burned day and night spiralling up to the sky and a sun so bright that only dragon eyes could truly see it.

I stretched my neck, spread my wings and caught the wind, let the earth drop away as I was lifted above the city of cities. Bromjunaar of the many jewels, the crown of the land, nest of dragons...

_Just awhile more... _

But even then the cold currents of the air turned warm, solid and what carried with invisible fingers became dense, confining. I could not fly...

_No. _

"No."

The sound of my voice was agony; it took the dream and brought the world in like a sharp bitter blade that had already started to fall. My fingers flexed but instead of muscle and skin, there was nothing but the harsh scratch of stone beneath fingertips that felt too much, too much—

"I have you."

I knew that voice. A hand engulfed both of mine, pinning them at the wrists—_where were my wings_— and pressed them against my chest. "Peace, Dovahkiin. Be still."

_Alduin. _

Strong arms shifted around me, holding me imprisoned against a body whose warmth seemed to burn right through into mine. My breath hitched, a reaction beyond my control even as the last vestiges of the dream dissolved and I felt the dampness on my cheek only when his fingers touched my tears. I hadn't known how much the soul in me yearned again for flight until I had tasted the skies once more. I had conversed with dragons in tongues now lost on mine. There had been books, scrolls, pillars of silver and white and gold, vast and great enough to contain the spread of wings... A beautiful city, an island of gems, and dragon mists and fire... _No snowstorms, not a cold barren wasteland_. If no one else wept for the destruction of Bromjunaar, at least the land seemed to.

"I have you."

We were both lying side by side on the ground and the bear pelt beneath me felt itchy against the thin cotton of my shirt. I should have pushed him off. I should have gotten away. Instead, I let him hold me, and wipe the tears from my face, and breathed in the comfort he was offering.

"Do you dream like this every night?" My throat was dry, my voice scratchy and rough from sleep and tears. I wanted water. But I needed him more.

His grip around my wrists tightened before relaxing. Slowly, he stroked his fingers over the tops of my hands, tracing each contour with a gentleness that branded me with the memory of his touch. "Most nights I do. I remember."

"How do you bear it?" I knew why he did it; he lived for the hope of being returned to his rightful form. I slept without fear in his presence because I knew he would never harm me on account of that. But to wake up everyday and feel loss so intimately, to come back to a life that had been forced upon him, a life so different from the one he had always known—

"Because I must. You know this, for you too have done it. To build a life from nothing."

I knew what he was doing. It was the truth but dragons were dragons and words were power in their mouths. I just hoped I knew what I was doing. In order to receive, one had to give. That was how a plant worked to get the job done. "With the biggest heists come the greatest risks. Sometimes, you pay the highest price." Karliah's wisdom, wrapped in tender grief and spoken at Gallus' grave.

But how I felt my heart when I reached for his hand. The way it throbbed, like a beating wing, as our fingers slid instinctively together. I still remembered why I was doing this. What was frightening was knowing—all too well— that it was not the only reason.

* * *

><p>Maybe it is madness, after all.<p>

Her touch kindles a thousand senses. He is being lit from within; there are no words.

Like the first light that glimmered into existence. Like the pale newborn greens wrapped with intricate webs of blue that came out of the darkness into creation. The first time he had ever looked upon a world and secretly called it his. Wild, rebellious delights and dark riotous joy.

She is all this and more as she lies coiled like tempered steel against him, and he has to be careful, so careful lest she runs and wounds them both. It is with a delicacy made possible in the absence of his dragon form that Alduin leans up, surveys his prize and keeps her tucked against his body, with her back still to him. Let her feel safe, he thinks as he lowers the parted seam of his mouth, feels the soft slide of golden hair against his lips, lets his breath linger on the curve of her ear when he reaches it. It pleases him immensely to smell his scent mingled with hers and tentatively, he strokes her fragile human skin with chaste kisses. Freyja's sharp sighs fall like blows in the dark. They threaten to sunder his control and Alduin cannot quite contain himself as he rocks gently against her, pressing her deeper into the cradle of his hips. He still rues the thin parchment of human skin and flesh he is wrapped in; it is a poor substitute for dragon scale that puts the strongest steel and brass to shame. But by all that exists, it has its merits, he thinks when she reaches back and threads her fingers in his hair as he follows the slope of her neck down, flicking only the tip of his tongue occasionally against it. And so he finds a familiar spot, that healing wound he left behind, one of two remnants of their forced wedding at Sanguine's hands.

Her undoing is also his. When she returns the press of his hips, he growls and sinks his teeth into tender flesh, revels in the sharp keening cry it draws from her. Her grip on his hair turns painful, but it does nothing to gain her release as he looms over her possessively. Dragons, Freyja will soon learn, do not let their prizes go.

"Alduin," she mutters, warns, and it sounds as sweet as worship to his ears. It is only after he tastes faint copper on his tongue, worries her wound tenderly with it, lifts his eyes to see her biting her lip, and feels the frantic thrum of her life's blood against their twined hands that are pressed against her heart that he stops. The wound is a bloody flower against the pale snow of her neck. The sight of it makes him want to roll her over on her front, lift her by the hips and rut her in the manner most familiar to him. He drags their joined hands down to her waist, reaching.

Only to find that she has beaten him to it. She turns in his arms, and for the longest moment, he is rendered perfectly still by something as simple as a searching look. He cannot quite contain his dissatisfied growl when she does not kiss him, opting instead to brush her lips against the corners of his mouth, careful nips designed to tease. He lets her know what he thinks of it when he has her flat on her back in less time than she takes to draw her next breath. Alarm and desire war on her face when he pushes a thigh between hers, then another, settling down on her body in a way that instinct tells him is perfectly right.

She could try to force him off. Instead, she accepts his weight, the stiff lines of her body softening as she relaxes, hesitantly drawing her thighs up to frame his hips. Alduin lowers his face to hers only to taste utter frustration when she winces and turns away, a hand on her neck. "Is that the dragon equivalent of a kiss?" For a moment, he wishes he had a cupful of Daedric brew. Then, he pushes the thought away and reaches for the hand that she is looking at with wide eyes. "That's... blood." Her voice is noticeably higher. Whether it is the fact that she is startled or a reaction to him lacing their fingers together as he presses her hand into the ground, right next to her head, he does not know. Neither does he care.

"You have an amazing gift for stating the blatantly obvious."

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then."

He chuckles softly. "By the way, Freyja..."

She looks up inquisitively at him.

"Dragons do not kiss. We claim." And with that, he swoops in for the kill.

Her mouth is soft and pliant beneath his; she tastes as wonderful as he remembers. But there is no mistaking the difference this time. The hesitance, the way he has to persuade her to open her mouth to his, the press of her free hand against his shoulder as though to slow him down when nothing else in the world will. Alduin pulls back slightly, close enough for him to nudge his nose gently against hers. Then he waits.

She is trying to control her breathing and not quite succeeding. It really is a delightful sight, he realises. "I... I don't know how to—to... I mean, it doesn't mean I have never but..." She turns several shades of crimson, each redder by succession. "I don't remember how to kiss. Or if I've ever kissed."

He smiles. Widely. Freyja scowls.

"Don't you dare laugh at me. I am sick of people teas—"

His kiss is hard; he knows it will bruise her. There are no words to explain how pleased he is with this. Beyond pleased. He is the first, her first. And this time, she is with him to experience it. Drawing back, he takes in her slightly dazed look, her reddened lips and the gathering embers of hunger that are flickering to life in her eyes. His dragon is somewhere inside there, the same dragon that claimed him like a whirlwind does all that lie in its path. She just has to be coaxed out. "Mine," he murmurs, and he can see her bristle slightly at his arrogance. The next time he bends down, she leans up to meet him and he feels more than a spark of pride at this.

Somehow, she wrests her hand free and Alduin learns that there is sweetness to be found in the tentative way she touches him, in the inexperience that even her show of assertiveness is unable to hide. She traces his shoulders, runs questing fingers up and down the muscles of his arms; her touch is a call, a tangible jolt to the very marrow in his bones as she slides the span of her hands over his waist, traces the length of his spine and follows it back down to his hipbones, and he takes the opportunity to arch up hard against her. Nails dig into his flesh, her thighs clench against his sides; he thrusts once more and then again when she responds in like manner.

It takes some time to find a rhythm they can both move to but by the time they do, desire is a conflagration that is eating him alive. He burns and aches and his body is tightening into a knot of pressure, hot, heavy and urgent. He needs release. Now. As he slides a hand between them, Narri's explanations, the pages of the book, the pictures become a hot jumble of thoughts that run ragged and spill over themselves; it is hard to think because Freyja has just gotten bolder and now it is not just her lips and tongue she is running over the sensitive arch of his neck. She is nibbling at the swell of his throat that moves as he swallows hard. He hisses when she nicks his collarbone, taking it between her teeth and applying light pressure.

By the time she realises what he is up to, it is too late. She locks a hand around his wrist but his fingers have already found what he has been looking for. Long fingers press down, rubbing firmly against the soft cloth that shields her from him and beneath his body, she cries out, arching into the palm of his hand. He pins her down with his weight, keeps her legs spread when she tries to press her thighs together, sliding her calves futilely, restlessly against his. She bites down on the slope between his neck and shoulder; a hand claws at his back, her body roils against his as she tries to flip him over and Alduin hisses at the sharp mix of pleasure-pain that does nothing to deter him. With dragons, it is always a dance for dominance.

Freyja's head falls back on the pelt, her pale hair strewn like an abundance of stars over the sky. She writhes beautifully, caged by his body. Then suddenly, her movements slow and ebb to a halt. Blue eyes open to meet his. Above the unison of their harsh breathing, Alduin hears what has to be the most terrible thing in the world.

Hoofbeats. And in spite of the thunderously loud galloping that is heading straight in their direction, he can tell that it is a single horse.

"Shadowmere," Freyja whispers. He can already see the heat in her gaze retreating, the beginning flare of a mortified blush on her cheek.

Alduin does not bother to even try. He sinks his forehead down onto Freyja's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. One day. One fine day, he is going to kill that horse, he swears.

* * *

><p>"We need to...we should get up now." I could barely recognise my own voice. As common sense returned in a cold humiliating rush, I could barely recognise even myself. What had I done? 'This was certainly not part of the plan,' I thought miserably even as Alduin showed no signs of wanting to move. Truth be told, I didn't want to either.<p>

"Alduin?" I was keenly aware that my hands were curiously immobile. I had an arm draped over his waist. The other was still latched around his wrist, resting with his hand that was currently burning its print through my shirt and onto my belly. And I hadn't even been the one to move it; he'd done that all on his own. Bloody Void, I had practically held him in place while he had been... 'No, no. You can't think about that.' It was an utterly futile and foolish effort. I could feel my face getting hotter by the minute as vivid recollections of what had stopped barely minutes ago flooded my mind and tugged at my body. I wanted to tell him I needed to go and see what it was that had brought Shadowmere back earlier by a full day and a half. The irony was that in spite of the intimate proximity, because of it, I couldn't move because I didn't know what to do with myself, or how to get out of this embrace without worsening the horrible sense of awkwardness that was quickly setting in with a vengeance.

'That was stupid. You set a trap and got yourself caught in it.' It had happened so fast, I had wanted too much. I wanted to knock my head against any of the cellar walls, or all of them, for allowing myself to be carried away.

Then, he lifted his face and gave me a long, hard look. I actually shivered. "This is not over, Freyja." And with that, he got off me. I didn't bother waiting for him to help me up. In spite of my shaking knees, which I blamed entirely on Alduin, I was climbing up that ladder almost before I knew it.

It was most certainly over. He just didn't know it. Still, I thought it only wise to hold my tongue. After all, it was extremely unlikely that he would believe me, given that said tongue had been down his throat very recently. 'You can't sleep with him.' I pushed at the hatch and winced at the bright light of day. Outside, Shadowmere stamped impatiently. 'You're not ready.' Bryn had been right; with me, it would never just be about sex. I was already putting my heart out on a limb here. There was a huge chance that it was going to be bruised again, and badly too. _Always leave yourself a means of escape. There must always be a backdoor_. I could practically hear Vex lecturing me. Maybe there was no way of escape, and probably whether I slept with him or not, I would get my heart crushed if I didn't succeed. But we all needed illusions sometimes and this was mine.

Unfortunately, Shadowmere was under no illusions when he set eyes on me. His ears went completely flat against his head and that heavy black tail lashed the air angrily. "Shadowmere, what—" He stepped away from me, and stamped his feet again, hard enough to throw up bits of soil and grass. "Oh."

Damn it all to Oblivion. I should have checked my appearance. The ties of my shirt were unfastened, the neckline left gaping wide open. 'Alduin, you sneaky bastard.' And too late, I recalled the bite on my neck. A side braid might have concealed it. Armour certainly would have. 'If only you'd been thinking straight...' Unfortunately, I hadn't been.

"What does that beast want?"

There might have been some consolation in knowing that I was not the only one failing to use my brains. If only Shadowmere had not gone from furious to utterly enraged at the sight of Alduin.

I had a split second to choose. So I launched myself at Shadowmere and caught his halter on both sides just before he darted past me. It took all my strength to pull his head to the side, forcing him to falter in his attempt to possibly trample Alduin on the spot. In turn, Shadowmere nearly yanked me off my feet as he reared back, his deafening outraged neigh ringing in my ears. Hot breath blasted my face and the snapping of his teeth sounded like whip cracks.

"Get back in the cellar!" I yelled, struggling to keep myself between my fellow assassin and his prey. It was entirely possible that Shadowmere had forgotten that hurting Alduin would in turn hurt me. The prospect of dying of a crushed skull or sustaining broken bones gave me additional strength as I dug in my heels and wrapped my hands so tightly around the leather that it hurt.

"Your horse has gone mad—"

"Because of you! Now move!"

I almost missed the sound of the hatch slamming as I struggled with Shadowmere, skidding on the grass as he dragged me along with him. "Sithis and the Void, will you calm down? If you crack open his head you'll kill me."

His only response was to bare his teeth at me and whip his head from side to side so quickly I felt my own teeth rattle. "Cease this behaviour at once!" The indignant Listener in me came roaring to the surface.

If looks could have killed... Shadowmere's crimson gaze bore into me. I glared back.

And he stopped, going completely still beneath my hands. The change was so immediate that it was almost eerie. Not even his tail flickered. The only evidence of his earlier exertions was the heaving of those muscular flanks.

It would be awhile before I was forgiven. Unclamping my hands from his bridle, I stepped back, briefly eyeing the white-red welts on my palms. "What's happened? It's only the second day."

For a moment, I thought that he was going to bite me. But all he did was take my hand in his mouth and tug. "We have to go now?" He whickered in response, nodding his head up and down. "Alright, give me ten minutes."

His whicker petered off into an inhuman growl.

"Five minutes."

When there was no further protest, I breathed an inward sigh of relief. One down, one more to go. High above, the sun was only midway in its arc across a cloudless, bright blue sea.

I already had a bad feeling that this was not going to be my day.


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man...

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Okay, that was some shut-eye. Just kidding. Real life and real work came rolling in like a tidal wave and there was naught to do but surf it. Anyway, here are the responses to the lovely reviews left. Thank you guys for feeding the Muse!_

_EvoKov: Thank you! That might be the closest Alduin comes to sexytimes, at least for the next few chapters. Yes, ultimately they will get to High Hrothgar and a brother reunion/confrontation is definitely in the works. Zute: You know me, our Shadowmeres operate on the same wavelength. ;) And thanks for affirming that I can write hotness! *L* I can do bodice-rippers but I wanted something more intimate and as appropriate as possible for the rating. Pint-sized She-Bear: I can safely say that Alduin would vehemently agree with you. Duesal10: Thank you for looking at my writing as an example! I'm completely flattered. The formula for me is always to stick with what the creators have given and explore possibilities from there. So far, it seems to have worked and I hope you find it useful too. Ny'kle: Well, now that she's seen Bromjunaar, she might dream about it from time to time. In a way I just wanted to show how Alduin would be homesick, so to speak. This Skyrim is not a place he knows well at all and he would dream about the past occasionally. And now Freyja will too. Servant of Agape: Hehe, certainly an important and practical lesson we could all use. And you are totally right about the language; I am determined to stick to a T rating, simply because it is ridiculous to label the entire fic M thanks to one chapter. Truth Dawns in Fire: He is! I am replaying the game and I chose to destroy the Dark Brotherhood just to do things differently. And not having Shadowmere there makes me sad. The One Who Reads Too Much: Score one for the Daedric/Undead/Supernatural Equine team. Sarah: Why thank you! Don't worry; I intend to finish Dragonrend come what may. So sit tight and hang on. :) Julie5: Well, you've guessed that part right. Alduin will be learning a little more about relationships and what it means to care for someone other than himself. And your comment about "insert tab a into slot b" made me chuckle. But it had to be done. He may be hot but it does not make him a god in the bedroom. Chavis54: After this chapter, things will start going her way. And thank you for that resounding endorsement of hotness. :P Moondawntreader: Aw, thank you. I doubt my Legolas/Eowyn fics will ever be completed but I'm glad you came over to check Dragonrend out. And this one will be completed so, there's my penance right there. Laluzi: You know how much I like your work so I am hugely flattered. Seriously, it makes me feel a lot more confident as a writer. So thank you once again. Harmoniedusoir: Well, I have to take the blame for the Alduin/Hiddleston association. No worries, I know it isn't a criticism. I can't speak for anyone else but it's really just the looks that do it for me, especially when Tom Hiddleston plays Loki. That's the exact look I picture for Alduin. Tom Hiddleston is certainly world-destroying on another level. He'll decimate cities with his "ehehe" and sweet smile, and "Bless you" everyone to death. *L* But your comment about Alduin being his own person, for want of a better expression, is certainly high praise and I really do appreciate it so much. As for my run-on style, yes. I really do have to cut back on some of that; you are completely right about the effect I aim for. And now I am ashamed! What's a restrictive clause? But when you explain it like that, it makes sense. Last but not least, thank you for that lovely, long review. I truly enjoyed reading it and being given food for thought. Ragez: More like had his Lover's Comfort bonus ripped away from him! *L* MetaLucario: Who knows, I just might make a separate one-shot with, to paraphrase your great quote, ovary-exploding scenes. ItalianEmpress 1985: A conspiracy of dragons, all headed by nefarious Alduin. *G* However, that kind of has been happening to me. I'm wondering if Besthesda tweaked the game in one of those update patches. That aside, those lyrics are completely on the money where Alduin is concerned. And I apologise for being a tease. I just can't help it. :P PhantomX0990: Go right ahead and tell the World-Eater to shut it. That's the spirit. *G* And you reread everything?! I feel like I should give you something. ChristopherDavies: Well, Shadowmere is very special, given the background fleshed out for him in-game. Certainly a lot of wisdom and practicality, all the better to guide his Listener with. As for what he has seen, I will be delving more into Sithis and the Void as this progresses. _

**DRAGONREND**

**XXXVI.**

I decided, as Shadowmere leaped over several scorched and rotting tree trunks that had fallen victim to the storm's wrath, that it was most certainly not going to be my day. We landed hard enough for my teeth to clip together and behind me, Alduin hissed out another curse in Dragon tongue, his breath hot against my cheek, his arms in a stranglehold around my waist. And that meant, naturally, that I was unable to erase the awareness of his lean form plastered against mine as Shadowmere tried his best to make both our lives a living nightmare by tearing through the forest at breakneck speed and leaping over every obstacle in our path, instead of running around it. 'I suppose,' I thought as I hung on grimly, the reins wrapped tight around my hands, body bent low in the saddle for better balance, 'even undead equine assassins need a way to let off some steam.' Although it would have been vastly preferable if Shadowmere could have done it without both of us on his back.

The ride had started off badly enough. When Alduin had finally emerged from the hut, smouldering with bruised pride and anger that I suspected was mostly due to Shadowmere's timely interruption, Shadowmere had chomped his jaws at him in a manner that could only be described as vicious. Alduin would have drawn the Nightingale blade, except that I clamped my hand over his and gave Shadowmere a bloodcurdling glare that the Night Mother herself would have been proud of. Then, there had been the small matter of persuading my most faithful companion that I was not going anywhere without Alduin. And that meant that either both of us were getting in the saddle, or all three of us would be taking a walk. For a moment, I knew Shadowmere was seriously contemplating the latter option. In the end though, good sense and an assassin's professional pride won out, and he grudgingly allowed us up on his back. But not before doing a little sidestepping that ended with Alduin tumbling onto the grass as he attempted to gain the saddle. I had practically thrown myself onto him to stop him from carving his initials into Shadowmere's black hide.

And now here we were, possibly the unhappiest travelling trio in Tamriel. Thankfully, Riverwood was roughly about two miles from Anise's cabin and given the speed with which we were going, it wouldn't be that long a ride. Possibly every bone in my body would be aching with a renewed vengeance, but it wouldn't be long now. It was a good thought, and I clung onto it even as Shadowmere gave a whicker that sounded uncannily like a darkly delighted laugh and proceeded to gallop in the direction of several trees with particularly low-hanging branches. Behind me, Alduin growled something about Void-spawned creatures of dubious legitimacy. I simply ducked my head and held my tongue. There were time when one, whether Dragonborn or a god of destruction, had to accept that one had been beaten. All that was left was to endure.

... ... ...

Perhaps more than good sense and professional pride had played a part in Shadowmere's willingness to carry Alduin. Under the clear blue skies the smoke from Riverwood's houses rose, small whiffs of grey that soon faded. But even from this height and across the river, I couldn't see anybody. It was utterly silent when there ought to have been the usual sounds of Dorthe and Frodnar's laughter and Stump's incessant barking, the sound of ringing steel and the hiss of hot metal in water as Alvor worked the forge. Even the mill lay neglected, the remnants of a trunk and a woodpile attested to that.

"Where are the guards?" Alduin asked abruptly as Shadowmere slowed to a swift walk when we began a particularly steep descent. "Bloody Void and damnation, not the river again."

He had taken the question right out of my mouth. Usually there were at least three or so patrolling the village; they were all that was left of the initial force that Balgruuf had sent out when Alduin had first been seen flying within the vicinity. That memory was startling and for a moment, I could see black wings blazing down at me from above. Then Alduin shifted in the saddle and the ghost of that remembrance vanished, leaving me with a shiver that raised the hairs at the back of my neck, and almost painful goosebumps on my leather-clad skin. It had been so long since I had seen him as he truly was...

"And so much for being subtle and unseen, and coming to this place under the cover of night."

I didn't so much hear as I felt his grumbling sigh as the water came up to our knees. That was the other thing that was bothering me. The Legion soldiers would have searched the village and ought to have been waiting in the woods for us. So far, there had been nothing and no one, not a single scout. If there had been, we would have been surrounded by now. Instead, Shadowmere was left in peace to bring us across the river, water running from his sleek coat as he gained the bank and trotted steadily over the crudely boarded bridge that led to the street which ran through the middle of Riverwood.

"Still alive," I quipped as I dismounted and gave him a quick slap on the side. Crimson eyes full of wicked humour slid first to me and then Alduin. "And I won't be telling Lucian about this either." The horse tossed his head, mouth parted in what could only have been a silent laugh.

Usually Shadowmere waited at the entrance of the town for me. This time, he seemed content to stand there in the middle of the narrow street. There wasn't even a chicken around, I noticed. My wet boots left muddy prints in the dust that led to Lucan and Camilla's home; the sound of my loud knocking was almost eerie, for the door was always open during daylight hours since Lucan did make his living as a trader, after all. Now, it was locked.

"We could just kick the door in," Alduin suggested helpfully when several minutes of knocking on the firm wood yielded no response.

I ignored him. "Lucan! It's me, Freyja!"

"Or I could use the Thu'um. There are Words to open doors that will not part."

"Camilla! Open up, it's Freyja!"

"Very well, if you can bear no damage to the property..." Alduin sounded so patronisingly bored that for a moment, I pretended that the door I was pounding on was his face, "then use those lockpicks you are so good with."

"Alduin, shut u—Wait, was that a compliment?"

Then, the sound of multiple bolts being drawn back could be heard. The door slid open cautiously and Lucan's familiar face with its meticulously trimmed beard appeared from behind. "Freyja!"

"Lucan, what in the world—Why are you holding a sword?" I'd barely gotten that last part out when Alduin yanked me back from the doorway and hauled me up against his side. The look on his face was positively feral. "Drop it, drop the blade!"

Of course, when faced with six feet something of intimidating, scowling Nord that was covered from head to toe in strange metal armour, Lucan naturally refused to comply. "He's a friend!" I snapped at Alduin through gritted teeth, trying unsuccessfully to squirm out of his grasp. There were any number of things I could have done to free myself. Astrid had taught me about pressure points found just below the ears, directly under the jaw and around the neck. And since Alduin had always been stubborn when it came to not wearing his helmet... Unfortunately, he would be exceedingly furious and utterly humiliated, especially if I did it with witnesses present. So I swallowed the indignity of being manhandled in front of someone who knew me to be the Dragonborn and Thane of Whiterun. "And you," I peered over Alduin's shoulder to see Shadowmere approaching, "stay back. Aldin, unhand me... Let me go!" The last part ended in a frustrated yell that brought Camilla to the door.

"Camilla, I told you to hide in the basement!"

"Oh shush big brother, I told you there was no danger. Now why are you threatening Freyja and her...companion with a dwarven sword?" Camilla's brown eyes gleamed with interest that I was rapidly starting to dislike as she scrutinised Alduin.

"He threatened me first," Lucan said indignantly.

"Because you waved a sword at my wif—"

"Let's take this inside," I shouted, drowning out the last word because Shadowmere was still several feet away and definitely within hearing range. The last thing I needed was for Sithis' own mount to be beating down the door in a bid to make me a widow. From the way Camilla and Lucan's eyes bulged though, it was safe to say that they had seen and heard enough to put two and two together. "You wouldn't happen to have any sweet rolls or crème treats, would you?" Alduin's grip on my shoulder lessened marginally and I resisted the urge to pat myself on said shoulder. Food always worked, at least with this dragon.

"Well," Lucan's uncertain gaze swung back and forth between Alduin and myself but at last, he began lowering the sword. "We did stock up several weeks' worth of food. Desserts weren't exactly on the menu though—"

Camilla elbowed her brother out of the way. "Please, just come in. And yes, we do have all that and more, if you fancy honey nut treats..."

"Which are completely impractical given that the siege started yesterday."

For a moment, I think my heart did stop beating. "What siege?"

Lucan and Camilla exchanged looks before she replied. "Why, the siege of Whiterun. Ulfric's Stormcloaks invaded yesterday. I thought you knew."

* * *

><p>Alduin was keenly aware that the few short months that he had spent with Freyja amounted to less than the blink of an eye when measured against the nearly infinite length of his life. Still, he felt as though he knew her well enough, even when he took into account the secrets that she kept from him. So it was quite a revelation to see his Dragonborn quite literally turn white at the news. She knew the Jarl, held some titled post as he recalled, and she had muttered something about owning a house there. As far as he was concerned, those were not sufficient reasons to turn that shade of pale. Of course, given that he had had to prise that information from her—and only because she would not let him slay the Legate who ordered him trussed and tied like a dumb beast—during their mad ride to freedom, and in the middle of an unholy tempest no less, there might have been a piece of information or two that he might have forgotten.<p>

"Oh gods, Sinding. I sent him right into a war," she breathed, clearly stricken.

For one brief moment, Alduin wondered if it was worth the effort pretending to be the slightest bit sympathetic; he was trying to win the woman over, after all. Then, he promptly abandoned that notion. Some things just could not be done.

"And Lydia, and Meeko. Balgruuf would rather die than surrender the Jarl's seat..."

Her voice cracked on that last word and her mouth had melted into a thin, tense line. Her eyes burned so blue the pupils seemed to shine with black fire. They had gotten larger, he realised with a start that caused his breath to hitch, more slanted. 'Almost the way they were in the Misty Grove.'

"You mean to save them, to ride into the middle of a siege when yours has always been the domain of shadow and silence." He spoke so quietly that neither Lucan nor Camilla could quite hear him. "Freyja, you know nothing of war."

"Whiterun is my city. And I will defend it. I can't not do anything." She did not so much speak as she snarled it, however softly. "Now let me go."

For possibly the first time in his long life, Alduin did as he was told. He watched as she strode into the house, requesting every stamina potion and soul gem under its roof. Lucan and Camilla promptly ran to do her bidding. This was the first time he had ever seen Freyja when something she cared for was being threatened and if she had been a dragon, she would have been breathing flame and smoke. 'Or possibly ice,' Alduin corrected his evaluation. Some, whether man or dragon, might have stormed and ranted, whipped around the room in a frenzy of coiled scales and sharp claws, or struck at hapless underlings with staffs wrought of bronze and inlaid with pure gold while they blustered about in their long robes of purple. Freyja held herself almost perfectly still, the set of her features cool and grim. She was a gathered storm, poised and ready to strike.

"There, that is the entire lot. Eight greater soul gems, five of which are filled, and seven extreme stamina potions." Before Camilla could shove everything into a brown sack, Alduin reached out and took two of the brightest and largest soul gems. Tossing one to Freyja and keeping an eye on a slightly unnerved Lucan, he unsheathed the Nightingale sword and laid the soul gem on it. The crystal flickered, hissing as it crumbled to nothingness, and the soul cast a faint glow in the room while it bathed the midnight blade in its light.

With visible effort, Camilla shut her mouth, which had been hanging open. "Somehow, I never get used to that." Quickly, she twisted the mouth of the sack close and secured it with cord. And then unbelievably, she walked around from the counter, approached him and held out the bundle.

Alduin simply stared down the length of his nose at her. When she still did not take his hint, he lifted a brow slightly. He knew she finally understood when a dark scowl stole over her face. She pursed her lips, eyes darting over to Freyja's hand and lingering on the gaudy wedding band that Sanguine had forced on them. Obviously, she had reservations about the Dragonborn's choice of spouse. "You wish to say something." It was a statement, phrased like a question and wrapped in a deceptively polite drawl which belied the emotion that fuelled it.

"Camilla, I'll take it." Freyja held out her hand and after a moment's hesitation, the other woman scooted over to her and out of harm's way. Obviously, his clever wife knew what he was up to. "Lucan, this should be sufficient payment." She reached into the pouch clipped to her sword belt and withdrew a rather large, fat purse of septims together with two diamonds.

"Perhaps a little too much actually." Lucan untied the purse and spilled its contents on the counter, next to that fascinating golden dragon claw that looked like the only item of real worth in the shop. "Let me count these out—"

"There's no time." If he had not already been convinced that she was worried, this would have done it. Freyja, in spite of being the inveterate septim hoarder that he knew her to be, barely glanced at the gleaming gold coins which, justifiably, bore the seal of Akatosh on one side and, to Alduin's eternal irritation, the side profile of Talos on the other. "Your door looks secure enough. Make sure the one above is equally locked and bolted. If he can, get Alvor to put some iron or steel bars over the windows."

"He's been doing that ever since those bandits from Embershard Mine came down last week to raid the village. We chased them off, got two of them, but they killed Stump."

If she clenched her jaw any harder, she would hurt herself. As it was, the knuckles of the hand that clutched the sack had turned white. "Did anyone else die?"

"One Hold guard, but no one else was injured. Frodnar's been crying his eyes out, poor child, and obviously all the guards have gone back to the city to defend it..."

If it was Lucan's intent to console Freyja, he was doing a terrible job. Alduin was about to either knock the man out with the golden claw or simply take Freyja and march both of them outside, when Camilla intervened.

"But you needn't worry about us." With consummate skill, she slid herself between the counter and Freyja, effectively blocking Lucan from view. "Faendal's managed to recruit the local hunters who are all too glad to be near the village for the time being. And Alvor's armed all of us. You are the Thane of Whiterun; it is there that you must go."

If there ever was a perfect cue for them to leave, that was it. Walking over to the door, Alduin pushed it open and let the brilliant afternoon sun spill in. Then he walked out, hand on the hilt of his blade as a casual warning to the hulking great steed that stomped a foreleg on the ground upon seeing him.

He did not have long to wait. Freyja took her leave quickly, pulling him up behind her and just in time before Shadowmere reared up, pawing the air before taking off with blazing speed. "He did that deliberately," Alduin shouted above the sound of the thunderous galloping.

"He likes an audience." Ordinarily she would have smiled but she did not turn back and her voice was flat, stripped of any good humour.

"You promised to go back and hunt down the bandits." He leaned closer into her, arms wrapped securely around her waist. Shadowmere might be the architect of this bloodcurdling ride at breakneck speed but Alduin had not lived so long without learning to make the most of a bad situation. "You do know it is impossible to save everyone." The sooner she did, the better. She would realise it would be hopeless trying to save this land, these people from tearing themselves to pieces.

What he assumed would be a few minutes' silence lasted a good portion of the journey. Beneath them, Shadowmere practically flew over the ground. They were still on the main path, he realised, and in broad daylight to boot. There was little he could do but trust that Shadowmere knew what he was doing. The horse certainly did not care for him, but he had yet to meet another who was so fiercely protective of Freyja. Just as Alduin had concluded that she was going to completely ignore him, she spoke up.

"I didn't promise. I will go back, if I can. And I know that they can fend for themselves, as they always have."

"But?"

They came to a sharp bend in the road. Shadowmere barely slowed his pace, forcing them to lean down in the saddle. As they did, he caught a glimpse of her side profile and was taken aback by how worn she looked.

"I knew that dog. He knocked his master to the ground and shielded the boy with his body when a dragon swooped down into the village. Riverwood was the first village I came to after Helgen. The people were kind to me, and generous." Suddenly, the sound of growls rent the air and Alduin caught sight of sleek dark shapes weaving through the thick brush of the forest before bursting out onto the road to run on either side of them. "Gods-damned wolves!" she swore.

There were five and they were fast, almost as fast as Shadowmere. They threw themselves relentlessly at the horse, those massive snapping jaws missing by inches but steadily getting closer with each attempt.

Fire might burn Shadowmere's flank, especially at this angle. At any other given moment, Alduin would not have minded. But on this occasion, ice would better suit his purposes.

"_IIZ SLEN!"_

Two of the wolves were hurled back, bound in crystalline fingers of ice that rapidly encased them. A third wolf fell behind, buffeted down the riverbank by sparks of lightning that left its fur charred and smoking. Alduin was reaching for his sword when Shadowmere suddenly slowed down. "Hang on!" Freyja shouted. That was all the warning he got when beneath him, powerful muscles exploded into action and Shadowmere bucked, lashing out with both hind legs. There was a tremendous dull crack and the loud ear-piercing yowl of a creature in great agony, and before he realised it was over, they were off and galloping. A glance behind revealed a dead wolf and another crawling slowly to the side of the road. It would die before the day was out, either from its injuries or because of another predator.

After that, they were all on edge. Alduin kept an eye out for wild beasts and possible soldier scouts until he saw the smoke rising in the distance. Finally, they reached the crest of a hill, where the road grew winding as it twisted down to a scene of carnage and chaos.

He had seen worse. He had done worse. But it was the Dragonborn that he looked at the most, because he knew how this must seem to her. The fields were burning, flames and smoke rising from the wasted ruins of the farmsteads like ragged banners to stain the sky and blacken the sun. Ash touched his face and he tried not to breathe it in to little avail.

She did not wait for him to dismount, simply lifted a leg over Shadowmere's neck and slid to the ground. Walking slowly, like one in a dream, she stood at the edge of the crest, far away and high enough above to gaze down safely at the sea of blue and grey that swelled against the walls of the city she had come to save. The low bellow of war horns blasted the air; arrows darted back and forth between the attackers and defenders; amidst the battle cries of soldiers were also screams of pain. Strange war machines that he had never seen littered the field; they were armed with mechanisms that enabled them to fling rocks at the city walls.

"He's sent hundreds of men," Freyja uttered, almost as if in disbelief. "There must be more than a thousand."

"Three thousand," he corrected quietly. "How many guards would the city have?"

"About three hundred. Balgruuf refused to let Tullius garrison Legion solders in Whiterun. He said it was an act of good faith, his way of showing Ulfric that he was on nobody's side but Whiterun's." Behind them, Shadowmere came up and placed his muzzle gently on Freyja's shoulder. "So that's why you came back," she murmured, turning to press her head against his. "And now we have to ride into this."

To say that he was livid hardly covered the extent of his feelings when he heard that statement. "That is utter madness," he snapped. Freyja simply moved to the packs secured to Shadowmere's saddle. She filled her pouch with an assortment of potions, downed a stamina potion and when he put out a hand to stop her, she had the audacity to push a bottle into his hand and tell him to swallow its contents as well. Instead, he dropped it on the ground. "What could you hope to accomplish? You may be the Dovahkiin but you are one woman against three thousand."

Brow furrowed in concentration, Freyja unplugged a crimson bottle and poured its contents over the Daedric blade. The red veins of the sword seemed to glow as the clear, oily liquid seeped into every jagged crevice, coated its razor teeth. She did the same to the elven dagger she retrieved from her boot. Then, very carefully, she sheathed them before handing him a spare pouch. He refused to take it. "I am not going to let you throw your life away on a lost cause." The thought of her dying on that field below horrified him.

"Then help me."

Alduin laughed bitterly. "What would you have me do? Call down burning stars so that I might obliterate everything that yet stands, including you? It is for this very reason that you have not called down a storm. The tempest would strike all, including those you wish to protect."

"No. But a dragon would make all the difference in this war. So call him."

* * *

><p>It was a rare thing, to see Alduin speechless, so stunned he couldn't even grope for words or a place to start. "How did I know, you want to ask?" Taking his hand, I placed the spare pouch with soul gems, stamina and magicka potions in his palm and closed his fingers over it, wishing it was his skin that I could touch, instead of the leather and metal gauntlet of the Blades armour. "It was the Falkreath guards who said you called down a dragon. They mentioned two had perished but one had escaped. When you told me what happened, you only spoke of the dragons you fought. And between you and the guards," I let his hand go, "I do believe you have more to hide from me than they do. I just wish you'd told me though."<p>

Reaching back, I pulled the cowl up over my head, tugging the half-mask up from beneath my chin until the soft thin material clung to my cheeks. At least I wouldn't choke on ash on the battlefield even if the taste was already in my mouth. "So will you help me?"

As long as I lived, I doubted that anyone could look at me with such intensity that I felt unravelled, even with all my armour on and my weapons at my side.

"He would never consent to bear you on his back, not unless you defeat him in battle. The concept of fighting for a city, for mortals that will neither reward nor welcome him does not sit well with me, and it certainly will not with him."

"I don't need him to carry me to the city or fight Ulfric's men. I just need you to clear a path to the entrance for me, that's all."

"And what in the name of Akatosh could you hope to accomplish inside there?

"I have to reach Balgruuf. Under any other circumstance he would be well guarded. But there's a war at his gate and he would have sent every available soldier out to fight. He would be fighting on the battlements if not for the fact that Irileth would lock him in his own dungeons just to keep him safe. The Stormcloaks might have planted agents in the city before this siege. All it would take is a moment's distraction amidst all this chaos to kill him. Trust me, I know."

"Freyja, even if they spare him, this city will still fall to those you name Stormcloaks. It makes no difference if he lives or dies."

Behind me, Shadowmere whinnied impatiently. "Whether you call the dragon or not, Alduin, I must go. Whiterun's my city; I cannot desert it anymore than you could have Bromjunaar." I untied the remaining packs from the saddle, stuffed them in the long grass at the foot of a tree and muttered a hasty prayer to Nocturnal to defend this thief's property from other thieves. Then, I swung myself up in the saddle and we began making our way down the broken cobbled road. I refused to glance back at the man I was leaving behind. He would call the dragon. He had to.

It had been a long time since I had felt this enraged and desperately afraid. Alduin was right; shadows and silence were my greatest weapons. I had never seen a war, let alone fought in one. And without the night, I was a clear target in my strange dark armour atop a huge black mount with eyes the colour of blood. But behind those walls were Balgruuf, Lydia, Meeko, Sinding and others whom I called friend. Somehow, I was going to make my way through that storm of swords and arrows, and into Whiterun. "Best to leave the road then," I murmured, tugging on the left rein and Shadowmere obviously agreed, for he complied. "We could circle around, try to stay hidden on the slopes and behind the trees until we get to the Pelagia farm, or whatever is left of it—" My throat closed up. If I lived, there would surely be Black Sacraments performed, calling for Ulfric's death and the Dark Brotherhood would be more than happy to respond to those.

Then came the sound that I had been waiting for. In the distance, a dragon roared, loudly enough to draw the attention of some of the soldiers at the fringes of the battlefield. Shadowmere and I moved deeper into the cover of the trees, and waited.

An answering rumble shook the air, and I smiled at a sight that used to make me run for the nearest shelter. A dragon came soaring down over the mountains, red and pale grey, the smoke scattering before the wind of his wings.

The Stormcloaks did not know it yet, but the tide of this battle had just turned.


	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man...

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Firstly, I must apologise for the short length of this chapter. I did so want to provide the crispy Stormcloak barbeque that some of you requested but no matter what I did, the chapter got away from me and this is the best I could do. I am somewhat rusty; I've been ill for the past two months and the effects have just begun to leave me. That being said, thank you very much to everyone who left reviews and very nice PMs urging me to continue with the story without pressuring me with demands. I would reply to all of you but I fear the author's notes would exceed the actual chapter! I promise a big battle in the next chapter; that has to happen. In the meantime, I hope this will do and that you like it. I've used some game dialogue; I've always been incorporating it actually but I assumed that you guys would pick up on that at once. Also, some references to Game of Thrones, which I love, and Loki, because I can't help myself. _

**DRAGONREND **

**XXXVII.**

_"Alduin's wings, they did darken the sky..."_

I sucked up the gigantic sigh of exasperation that rose in my chest. A nerve jerked near my eyebrow and I frowned fiercely. I was not going to rise to the bait. Neither was I going to regret using the summons that I had been assiduously avoiding for months on end.

_"His roar fury's fire, his scales sharpened scythes.."_

We were hidden deep enough behind the relatively thick covering of the trees for me to dismiss any fears of being overheard. Besides, all eyes were on the dragon above as it circled the air above, shining with a bright hard gleam, like a blazing star set aloft. A star the colour of blood.

_ "Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died..."_

If someone had told me that one day, I would be standing at the edge of a battlefield with a spectral assassin at my side, waiting for a dragon—or dragons, if one considered what Alduin truly was—to swoop down and save the day, I might have believed them. Even while reeking of dragon smoke and somewhat scorched by dragon flame, dishevelled, clutching a sword I couldn't remember how I knew to use, I might have believed such a tale. But if that someone had added that the spectral assassin would be singing...

_ "They burned and they bled as they issued their cries..."_

A tone-deaf spectral assassin of the Dark Brotherhood to boot. 'Not a word Freyja. Just ignore him.' Shadowmere had allowed himself one long quizzical glance at Lucien before returning his attention to the eerily silent battlefield. After all, they were old friends and if old friends did not put up with one's idiosyncrasies, who would?

_ "We need saviours to free us from—"_

"Oh stuff it Lucien," I snapped irritably, turning around to glare at the glimmering spectre at my side. Anyone else would have gotten the flat of my blade or a far more withering and rude reply. But this person, dead or alive, was not someone you said 'shut up' to.

"It suits the occasion," the legendary Hand replied with a grin that could only be described as wicked. Then again, that was the only kind of smile Lucien Lachance possessed. "And I do so enjoy the irony of it all."

"My ears will be assaulted in a few minutes' time by the mayhem and chaos of war. I don't need you adding to it," I muttered but the words lacked venom or any real conviction.

"Men screaming in their death throes, the hard kiss of blade against blade, and the delicious wet stab when metal punctures flesh. Is there any sweeter music in life?"

Anybody else would have sounded like a lunatic. Lucien managed to make it sound romantic and whimsical as he stood there, poised like a sabre-cat. Although the man was standing perfectly still, you knew just by looking that he was as nimble as lightning. Even if you could see right through him. "Silence, my brother," I quipped.

"I am going to let that one slide," he said dryly.

"If I were to guess, it would be right between my ribs."

His nostrils flared slightly and the corners of those hollowed out eyes turned up. It had taken some time before meeting Lucien's gaze did not make all the hairs on my skin stand on end. "Someone has already been there and done that. I pride myself on my originality."

There was no doubt that Lucien had indeed worked out how he would kill me. It did not mean he wanted to, it was simply in his nature to do so, the same way a jeweller would feel the urge to shape precious gems or the way a blacksmith would see possibilities in the ingots he put between the hammer and anvil. 'And he would see it as art. They all did. We did.' There was no use denying my part in all this, not when I was sandwiched between the supernatural allies only a Listener inherited. Even the immediate air around us felt cooler in spite of the fires and the blazing sun; here, the light was less potent and the shadows held a hypnotic dense heaviness that subtly drew a person's gaze.

"And speaking of originality, I do believe this is the first time a Listener has ever attempted to take on an army. Even with a dragon and a fallen god on your side, I have my doubts. Our kind, we tend not to do so well out in the open against large numbers of the enraged variety. Just ask your predecessor when you finally meet."

It hardly surprised me that Sithis knew exactly what had transpired or that he was making his presence, his claim, felt through Lucien. If Nocturnal and Azura were watching, suffice to say that he and the Night Mother were also a part of the largely invisible audience that watched my life play out on the stage known as Skyrim. All I could do was try to look out for the strings they had tied to me and make sure that if I did dance to someone's tune, it was because I had chosen to. As experience had so obviously shown, that was much easier said than done.

"And by the way, Cicero sends his regards."

Now that made me shudder slightly. "Sending him to Sithis was my way of sending mine."

Lucien's smile was all teeth. "I suppose I must trust the wisdom of our Lady. After all, she chose you."

"And I choose to enter this war," I replied shortly, aware of how much I mirrored Astrid's cool demeanour, right down to the way I folded my arms and the grim even smile levelled at him. If only the Night Mother had chosen her instead of being seduced by the prospect of taming a dragon... "Any soul that dies by your hand is for the Void. And these plains are ripe for picking." That would give Lucien something to put his daggers into, instead of my back which he would ostensibly be guarding. The man loved murder so much that he even alluded to his own constantly until I discovered exactly who Mathieu Bellamont was and what was the great treachery committed.

Now that the dragon had departed the skies above them, the battle had resumed. They thought it would not be returning. Shifting my gaze, I looked back to the top of the sloping hill, towards the path where I had left Alduin without so much as a backward glance. And it began. Light swirls of dust and ash arose. The treetops shivered violently, then the trees themselves shook mightily as great wings rose and fell. The sound roiled like approaching thunder on the horizon. A dragon climbed into the air.

And my mouth fell open. "What in the bloody Void is he doing?"

"Exactly what you asked him to do."

"I told him to use the dragon, not to ride it!" There had been times when I had been so petrified that I could have sworn that the idiom about feeling one's heart in one's mouth held more literal than figurative truth. This wasn't one of them. The truth was, I couldn't even feel my heart beating as I watched the dragon fly higher and higher, taking Alduin with it. He was supposed enter the fray only after the dragon had burned the soldiers to cinders, not wade out into the heart of it hundreds of feet from the ground. All it would take was a slip, a hand too slow to grasp those dangerous horns—

"You asked for fire and blood. And now Sithis asks the same thing." Lucien's hard tug on my arm caught me completely off-guard, made me tear my gaze from the sky to meet his sightless one. "We are messengers of death, you and I," he hissed, and I felt the chill of his touch swarm up my forearm as it sucked the heat from my flesh. "Together, we will unleash the wrath of our Dread Father."

'Your Father.' But the thought would not translate into words. It made no difference.

Lucien's expression gentled and he raised a hand, as though he would touch my cheek. "Child of darkness," he breathed softly, "one day you will serve him as I do now."

So he did know about the half-formed plans I had made, the ones I kept to myself, that I only thought of in the dead of the night as I listened to the sound of my breathing. They all did, and the message was painfully clear. There would be no escaping the Dark Brotherhood.

* * *

><p>She had left him.<p>

Alduin did not know which emotion he felt more, shock or fury. Against all his advice, against everything that her own eyes could see, the Dragonborn had seen fit to ride off on that black monstrosity of hers, leaving him standing in the middle of the road clutching a spare pouch filled with potions and soul gems that he had no intention of using. While Alduin had never lost faith in the fact that Shadowmere was not in possession of a brain, or at least a functioning one, he had begun to believe that Freyja did indeed have one. On several occasions she had displayed considerable intelligence and cunning for him to make her an exception to the rest of her race; that she was as much dragon as she was human was a mitigating factor of sorts, that much he had to admit. Still, he had expected better of her and that she had elected to march into war against an army three thousand strong just beggared belief and logic.

"That little...fool..." he bit out the words, clenched his jaws together so hard that his teeth ached. Something cracked in the pouch that he squeezed in his hand and he resisted the urge to dash the entire lot on the cobbled road. Even with a dragon, there was no way that he could guarantee her safety. She was a single individual in a sea of bodies; anything could happen, especially when Odahviing unleashed fire from above. This was not a battle strategy he had ever used or even dreamed of. In war he had flown freely with his lieutenants across the sky, meeting the winged traitors in battle and scourging their enemies below with both frost and flame. There had never been a need to protect anyone or anything.

It was entirely possible that Freyja had never considered all these. If she had, more fool she for having such blind belief in the success of such an ill-conceived scheme. And for having such confidence that her blatant manipulation of him would work...

He could do it, if he wanted to. Just turn around and travel back up that road. Perhaps when she saw that he would not capitulate to her expectations, she would realise the hopelessness of such a cause and have no choice but to follow after him. He was close enough to the Monahven for him to safely make it there on his own. Perhaps the Greybeards there would have answers and Words of Power to reverse the cursed ones she had laid upon him. Perhaps there was no need of her after all and he could leave her behind.

"_OD AH VIING_!"

'And more fool you for contemplating what you know is not possible.' Absently noting the slight stains left on his gauntlets by contents of the cracked bottle, Alduin grimly fastened the pouch to his sword belt. Hurrying over to the tree where Freyja had stashed their belongings, he opened his pack, tore a thick strip off the least favourite of his shirts and used it to fasten the Nightingale blade to its sheath. It would not do to lose the sword midway in battle. He had barely finished knotting the ties when the answering cry of a dragon echoed through the skies.

The thought of Odahviing asking all manner of impertinent questions and putting two and two together was vexing enough to make Alduin close his eyes briefly as he awaited the dragon's arrival. It would be a long time before he forgave Freyja for this. And at the back of his mind, her easy deception of him sat uneasily. In that dark dank basement she had known that he could summon a dragon and she had said nothing, done nothing until she had use of it, of him. She had kissed and held him, knowing that he had deceived her. 'Perhaps more dragon than human,' he thought. 'But the mortals have proven themselves particularly adept at treachery time and again.'

But there was no time for further contemplation as the sound of beating wings filled the air. Hot winds lashed his face and Alduin narrowed his eyes, resisted the urge to shield them with his hand even as he was blanketed by the huge shadow cast by the descending dragon. The ground beneath his feet trembled and with a bone-jarring thud, Odahviing dropped his wings to the ground.

"Hail_ thuri_," the crimson dragon dipped his head low in respect. "How may I serve you?"

A series of demands rose to mind before he could suppress them. Most of them centred on requiring Odahviing to grab the Dragonborn off her horse and flying away to the other end of Skyrim so that by the time his stubborn wife made her way back to Whiterun, the battle would be over. Several did consider the ease with which his second-in-command could roast Shadowmere to a crisp. Naturally, none of these made their way to his lips simply because there was no scenario that would end well for him. At the same time, he could not very well instruct Odahviing to protect the Dragonborn at the cost of his life, which was really the command that was at the forefront of everything else. It would be construed as yet another weakness, something he could ill afford.

"The Dragonborn has ridden out into the battlefield you passed over and as such, that army needs to be dispersed at once. I need her alive and unharmed."

Odahviing cocked that disconcertingly huge head to the side and for the first time, Alduin realised those huge curved horns were almost as long as he was tall. Once again, being in such proximity to one of his own made him painfully conscious of the weak body he now inhabited. "She ran into the midst of a war in an attempt to flee from you?"

If Odahviing knew the truth, he might have rolled over onto his side and laughed himself into a stupor. "There is no accounting for the foolishness of mortals," he shrugged. "Apparently she has an ally in that city. She imagines that she will be safe there. I would let the city burn, or better yet, burn it myself but for the fact that she still is of use to me."

"Why not let me retrieve her? I could pluck her from the midst of the soldiers if you point her out to me."

"And of what use would you be to me without one leg? She'd sooner hack off your foot than let that happen. No, we will fly together and grant her the safe passage she so desires. And once we have vanquished this army, I will corner her within those walls."

The red dragon did not look entirely convinced but good sense, a healthy dose of fear and perhaps the impending thrill of bloodshed helped silence any remaining questions he had. Instead, he stretched out his neck, lowering it to the ground. "They will be no match for us. _Mu fen zind_!"

Grasping a horn, Alduin swung himself up lightly and dug the heels of his boots firmly into the other's skin. Odahviing grunted softly but did not complain as he began a smooth ascension into the air, spiralling up, beating back the smoke and ash that wafted towards them.

And although this was not a battle he had willingly involved himself in, there was no way of suppressing the familiar heady sensation that washed over him. Down below, the mortals milled, like tiny insects waiting to be crushed.

"Start with those strange machines. Burn them all."

He felt as well as heard the snow-winged hunter's throaty chuckle. "As you command, _Zu'u fen al_."

Later, the bards would write songs of this battle, this day when a dragon saved Whiterun. There would be many versions, different tunes fashioned, and the events would always be told and interpreted differently. But there was one line that remained unchanged.

That day, the skies rained fire.


	38. Chapter 38

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Oh my gosh, I have been at this for three days and did little else, including sleep. If for no other reason than that, have pity on me and let me know what you think if you read this. I am covered in metaphorical blood and at times, real sweat from having wrestled out this chapter. The Muse wouldn't let me go. Seriously, I hope you guys like this because A) I have never written a big battle scene and therefore B) I am nervous. But I did go back to the game and had a serious look at Whiterun's defences and the easiest way to attack the fortifications and the place itself, so I hope what I've written makes sense. I would also like to thank the wonderful person who created The Dragon Language Dictionary. If I had dragon babies, I would give them to you. I've managed to work the translations, or at least the rough interpretations, into the story to minimise disruptions to the reading. The Shouts used in this chapter mean "Mirror, Phantom, Flood" and "Waver, Dying, Clear". Also, I am aware that Ulfric used catapults but I love the word "trebuchets" and so I used it. There, I confess. And last but not least, thank you everyone for your well wishes and concern! :) To quote my second favourite Englishman, "Bless you."_

_Duesal10: That's Alduin alright, World Eater and absolute god of badassery. EvoKov:Well, look at what happened. The Muse must have gotten your message because she practically chained me to my chair and laptop. MissFabulous09: Thank you so much! And yes, the cover picture is from Thor 2. It's my absolute favourite shot from the movie. Iron Stag: He's got dragon fire, which might be better? Zute: Aw, thank you! And please, you are a very fine writer so don't ever doubt that or say otherwise. I love the way you write humour especially. And as always, we seem to be on the same wavelength because I was hoping someone would give feedback about the Lucien parts and you did just that! I took your advice about working on the plot and trying to write a little everyday. And suddenly the floodgates opened. So I had much writing and little to no sleep last night. MetaLucario: Would that all days could be like that day. :) DragonflyxParodies: I guess this chapter will answer your question and maybe raise some more. it's a topic I could explore at length here. Let's see where the plot road leads. _

**DRAGONREND **

**XXXVIII.**

Once upon a time, the sky had been filled with dragons, so large that they threatened to blot out the sun, so terrifying that everything shook beneath their shadows, so fearfully and wondrously fashioned by the hands of the god who sat at the head of a pantheon of gods. It was hard to imagine why anyone would not want to worship them.

The red dragon moved like the wind upon which it rode, banking and gliding, twisting its lithe form so effortlessly that it made the trebuchets, lined up from across the river, seem like a child's toys, cumbersome, ill-fashioned and so slow, too slow. Except that in this game, people died. The stones meant to tear down Whiterun's walls sailed through empty air; men shouted frantically as they scrambled to reload the slings. Some of them were still working when the fire came and burned them alive. The lucky ones died instantly, reduced to charred bone and ash strewn upon the wind. Then there were those whose screams rivalled the infernal wailing that haunted Shriekwind Bastion as they ran blindly, flung themselves on the fiery ground, mad with agony. There were those who ran towards their fellow soldiers, mindless except for the need for someone to help them, to put them out of their misery. Whatever the dragon missed, they helped set alight. Others threw themselves forward, hurtled into the water only to be trampled beneath the surface by the rest. Some men died on the banks trying to reach it.

Men may have eventually found the courage to fight back against the dragons, but they never stopped being afraid. They simply learned to master their fear. Arrows swept through the air; already the different units were regrouping on the opposite bank and now the dragon had to dodge more skilfully as the captains and their archers began to drive it, to anticipate its flight through the air. However much I loathed Ulfric and the Stormcloaks, I had to admire his men and the steel he had put into them. Instead of running, the survivors stood their ground. They were fighting back.

"Unfortunately, for today the better part of valour would be discretion," Lucien drawled softly as we watched the dragon wheel back and I winced as it rent the air with yet another deafening roar as it passed over us. Perhaps any other horse would have bucked and galloped away wildly. Shadowmere simply continued to pick his way carefully across the steep sloping incline as we made our slow cautious way towards the ruin of the Pelagia Farm. "And now they have nowhere to run."

Hovering in mid-air above the ruined siege engines, the dragon's wings sent clouds of smoke and burning ash whirling over the soldiers who were forced to move back. And this made them easy pickings for the thin line of city guards spread over the walls. As the Stormcloaks fell from the arrows in their backs, the dragon arched its neck and fire, bright as a second sun, issued from its mouth, blanketing the screaming men. Caught between the proverbial hammer and anvil, that portion of the army scattered, breaking rank like waves dashed against the cold grey stones of the sea as they retreated in the direction of the farms owned by the Battle-Borns and Nazeem. Yet even then, Alduin pursued them.

The smell of cooked flesh and bone was overwhelming. Sourness flooded my mouth and I swallowed hard, tried to ease the roiling in my gut. But I could not look away.

"He will burn them all, you know." It was stated simply enough, but I knew a taunt when I heard one, however slight. Lucien was an expert with all types of blades, including the verbal kind.

Turning my head slightly, I eyed the spectral assassin. "With fire and ice, for that is what we dragons do." I gave him what he wanted to hear, and that was to know that in spite of all that time away from the Brotherhood, from him and the Night Mother, I had not forgotten the depths of my dragon soul as Sithis had shown it to me. Even now, I felt awe, a thrill, some kind of twisted pride in the fact that I had the same blood as that mighty creature which was decimating Ulfric's army.

"_But a Dragonborn is more than a dragon."_

It was a truth I remembered, that Arngeir taught me anew one night when I appeared, dressed in blood and all my finery as the Listener and more than half-ready to slit all their throats. But within the walls of High Hrothgar, Sithis' voice was silenced and the Greybeards were wise enough to know what to do with a damaged Dragonborn.

"_Just as Akatosh manifests himself both as Dragon and Man, so are you that representation made flesh. Perhaps that is the best way of expressing what a Dragonborn is meant to be."_

The Chief of the Nine had come to Alessia in her time of need, because she fought to free a people enslaved. I was fighting for my city... but I knew, rules or no rules, Arngeir would never approve of repaying carnage with carnage, especially any that involved using dragons. That knowledge shamed me and I clung to it grimly. As long as I remained accountable to something, to someone, even on days when I could not bear to face myself, I would never be lost again.

I looked ahead just in time to see a trebuchet fling a huge block of roughly hewn stone through the air. Even before the projectile crossed the point of mid-arc, I knew where it would fall. "No!" I rose in the saddle, clutched at the reins and Shadowmere's mane even as he picked up the pace, small stones and pebbles slithering down into the wilting grass. He was going as quickly as he could, and for the first time I felt those sure strong hooves slip, felt the powerful muscles beneath me jerk and move with something less than grace.

But it was too late. I felt the crash of stone against stone in the sudden hollow pit in my stomach that rose to squeeze my heart.

No.

There was no time to cry out, no time to scream, no time to think as the first archway guarding the main entrance collapsed with a rumble that shook the ground, crushing the barricades beneath. White clouds of grit and sand spurted into the air like steam from hot streams. The men who had jumped rather than be buried alive beneath the rubble were cut down before they could even draw their blades. If the land east of the city had been turned into a scorching wasteland, the fortifications beyond the western wall was swiftly becoming a bloodbath as the Stormcloaks roared triumphantly, an avalanche of blue and silver as they swarmed up and over the ruins of the archway and into the winding path that led to the city gates. The chorus of whistling arrows swelled as more numbers approached from the side, scaling the low-lying cliffs and rocks as the Whiterun guards were forced to retreat behind the broken stonewalls from the sudden onslaught. And that was the same entry point I sought. I would need to skirt around the edge of the army and cut a straight path through, for there was no other way in and if the drawbridge fell, the main gate would too.

"This is no place for you."

That was the closest thing to advice that Lucien would give me. For whether I lived or died, I belonged to the Void and he cared not whether I stayed in this mortal realm for the next few moments or years to come. Shadowmere gathered himself, scrambling for even ground that was now well within reach and I knew the moment he found it, he would gallop as no other horse in Skyrim could.

"Watch my back. Keep an eye out for the arrows."

Lucien laughed and he had never sounded more joyful. "My blade is yours."

Then the world became a blur of heat, fire and sunlight as we burst through the trees, Shadowmere's hooves flying over the ground as he ate up the distance. Alarmed shouts rippled through the soldiers nearest to us. Several turned, nocking arrows to bows that were swivelling in our direction. A half-formed prayer to Talos that never made it to my lips came and went. 'Let this work.'

The bowstrings went taut.

'Now.'

"_FIIK SAH FAATH!_"

* * *

><p>It was the echoes of the Shout that brought them up short, which stopped the streams of fire and gave a remnant of the Stormcloaks time to flee.<p>

'Freyja.' And for the first time since they had begun teaching the mortals the true meaning of war, Alduin felt something other than bloodlust run through his veins. "Damn her, she should have waited!'

"Dovahkiin!" Odahviing swung his head eagerly in the direction from which the Thu'um had been heard. Without waiting for instruction, his second-in-command snapped those great wings that Alduin looked upon with bitter envy, causing them to surge upwards before banking sharply to the left. The flight path took them directly over the city. Save for the soldiers who were now scrambling to take up new positions near the main gate, now that he had destroyed the war machines which had been threatening the southern and eastern walls, the rest of the city was absolutely devoid of any other signs of life.

"Dragonborn!"

"It's the Thu'um! The Voice of the Dragonborn!"

"She's back! The Thane has returned!"

And in spite of the shadow cast by the dragon, the Whiterun guards let out an exultant cry so loud that he could hear them through the strong winds that whipped at his exposed skin and eyes, and shrilled the wild songs of the sky in his ears.

It was the luminous wave of phantom horses and their riders that first caught his eye. He had heard the Words, had known what to expect and within minutes he located Freyja, wreathed in the ethereal light of the spectres that thundered onto the battlefield with her. The same could not be said for the Stormcloaks, who appeared to be overwhelmed by the sight of a small army of ghostly riders. Some fell back in fear and terror as their arrows sailed harmlessly through the enemy, and there were others who tried to regroup, drawing their swords. As the first of the phantoms reached them, they lunged and struck, only to find their blades passing through light to be buried in the flesh of their comrades. In their scramble to avoid being trampled, soldiers were knocking each other to the ground. When Shadowmere let loose a bloodcurdling scream of fury, the phantoms did likewise, rending the air and drowning out all other sounds until the plains resounded with their cries and men threw down their weapons to clasp their hands over their ears.

Into this writhing sea of blood and bodies rode Freyja, bathed in the crimson swirl of the Daedric blade as it rose and fell, leaving the dead in her wake as Shadowmere trampled more of the living, crushed them as he drove his way through their midst. Alduin would have thought her utterly glorious if not for the presence of a cold, ancient darkness that he sensed. He had felt it the first time when Shadowmere had attacked the Imperials transporting them. Then, it had been brief flickers he had too easily overlooked in their flight for freedom. Now, it was steadily rising.

He felt the flash of a malevolent gaze and knew Odahviing did too because the red dragon let out a deafening roar of defiance. "_Zuwuth los het, zokwuth do pah sav gein_," he growled.

His first name was Padomay. But he was also called Sithis. 'So he is here, the elder who is oldest of all save one. And that is his servant, that thing protecting Freyja.' Alduin could clearly see the flash of white blades as the lithe figure twirled and spun them with a speed that defied the mortal eye, slicing arrows that otherwise would have buried themselves in the Dragonborn's back.

Odahviing cleared the edge of the city and before Alduin realised what his intentions were, he was hovering high over the drawbridge and taking aim at the Stormcloaks nearest to the edge of the fortifications. "_YOL—!"_

"No!" Alduin yanked at the curved horns and lifting one foot, stomped hard against the side of Odahviing's neck. It would take more than a savage kick to even scratch the surface of dragon scale but the blow was enough to make the other halt. It was too late though, for the damage had been done. While the Stormcloaks had taken the brunt of the flames, the wooden bridges and the roofs of the outermost guardhouse had not been spared. Whiterun guards tumbled from their posts, some in sheer panic as their opponents turned into human torches while others clutched in agony at their burns. And the only way in for Freyja was now a seething fiery pit.

"_SEYL VIIR LAAR!_"

Instantly, flames several feet high suddenly shrank to tiny hissing tongues that vanished, leaving half-melted armour and smouldering wood in their wake. While fighting continued in the distance where Freyja was, there was nothing but stunned silence from the soldiers around him. Those who had collapsed from the sheer force of the Thu'um made no attempt to pick themselves up. And the ones lacking helmets that obscured their faces gazed at him with naked fear and shock.

Ever the opportunist, Alduin seized the moment. "_Odahviing, luv niin bex voth rax ahrk jusk! Imzik strah fah Dovahkiin_." And to ensure that the Whiterun archers did not commit the same stupidity that caused the deaths of the Falkreath guards, he spoke in the mortal tongue. "Tear the Stormcloaks apart and open a way for the Dragonborn."

And for the first time in more than a thousand years, men cheered for a dragon.

* * *

><p>In spite of Lucien's speed and Shadowmere's ferocious strength, we had begun slowing down. Or at least I was. My arm burned with the effort to keep parrying, to keep thrusting my blade down into warm yielding bodies that turned an immediate, unnatural shade of pale the instant death came. Sithis was here, all around me and there was nothing I could do because I had opened the door for him.<p>

The phantoms were starting to fade, and along with those, the madness of terror that had been cast by Shadowmere's cry. Many had fallen, a good number had fled but there was still an army standing between me and the drawbridge I desperately needed to cross. If I didn't do something soon, the soldiers would overwhelm us. As it was, more had begun fighting back.

"Another soul for you, Father!" Lucien growled with unholy delight. Something heavy collapsed against my leg and slid off even as I countered a slash to Shadowmere's flank, grasping the hilt of the saddle in a death grip when he reared, hooves striking out. From the corner of my eye I caught the glint of raised weapons.

"_FAAS RU MAAR_!"

A war axe and great sword clattered to the ground as the soldiers around us fled, clearing the way. Lunging forward, Lucien dragged an unlucky soul back and slit his throat. "Go," I rasped, pressing my heels lightly against Shadowmere's flanks as he leapt forward. For a few precious seconds, there were no blades raised against us. So when the dragon roared again, I could see exactly what it was doing.

Diving in from above, it stretched out its legs, those massive talons curled and ready. The Stormcloaks ran but it was too late for those caught in the path of the dragon as it crushed the ones which slipped from its grasp before taking off into the air with several prisoners. They screamed louder when it dropped them and didn't stop until they hit the ground. Again and again, the dragon flew in, savaging the ranks of Ulfric's army, picking them off the way a hawk did rabbits.

'At least Whiterun's archers have the good sense not to fire on the Stormcloaks beyond the fortifications,' I thought grimly. The last thing I needed was for Alduin to get an arrow in the back or for an enraged dragon to turn on Whiterun. Either scenario would not bode well to say the least. Instead, they focused their attention on the path leading up to the drawbridge. With their reinforcements cut off by the dragon, the area had turned into a death-trap for any Stormcloaks caught inside.

"Perhaps I was wrong after all. You are going to make it," Lucien shouted.

He was right. All around us, Stormcloaks were fleeing. We had passed the river and the high crest of jagged rocks and boulders next to it. The ground was already beginning to slope upwards as Shadowmere barrelled ahead. The only problem was the soldiers that were running right towards us even as Alduin and the dragon circled above, driving them on and further out onto the plains.

"_FUS_!"

They staggered under the force of the Shout, helpless to do anything as we thundered past them towards the city. Overhead, I heard the sharp whistle of arrows as the Whiterun guards who saw our approach provided protection by picking off any remaining Stormcloaks in the area.

"What are you doing?" Lucien demanded as we came to a stop next to the wall.

"Shadowmere can't climb over these rocks but I can. Take the reins and keep him safe."

The spectral assassin made a scoffing sound as I looped a leg over Shadowmere's neck and slid to the ground. "I meant what were you thinking by sparing the enemy. You failed to use the full force you have at your disposal."

"I'm sure that you'll more than compensate for my poor performance this day," I shot back before running a hand over Shadowmere's cheek and muzzle. "Thank you. You were amazing but you already know that." He whickered and seized my hand softly before releasing it.

"Come Shadowmere, my old and dear friend." Lucien tugged slightly on the reins and then they were off and galloping back onto the plains, ready to collect more souls for Sithis. Scrambling over the rocks, I paused for a moment to watch them, the white rider on a shadowy horse. They moved like one...

"My Thane!"

It was a voice I hadn't heard in a very long time. "Lydia!" She was on the drawbridge, a nocked bow in her hands and a smile that gleamed white against the blood and dirt on her face. A hastily tied bandage, which consisted of a thick tanned strip torn from a guard's tunic, was wrapped around her forearm and there was a shallow cut that stretched from her temple to her jawline. But she was alive and my heart felt as light as the running steps I took across the makeshift platform to her.

"Well, someone's been busy routing those stupid excuses for Nords." She clasped my arm as I reached her. "I prayed to the Divines that you would come in our time of need."

"I try not to disappoint. Hold still." Golden light swirled over her as I cast a healing spell. "And it wasn't just me alone. I had help. A lot of help."

"A dragon's help." She raised an eyebrow at me. "And who was that on its back? I don't recall seeing him at High Hrothgar."

It had been a chilly trek up those seven thousand steps, made worse by the resentment Lydia felt at having been made a housecarl when she had been about to be promoted to the captain of the city guard. The fact that she could have outfought me with one arm tied behind her back and possibly in her sleep had done little to enhance her opinion of me, even if I was the Dragonborn. And that was why I had brought Jenassa along to Ustengrav instead of her.

"That's uh... Aldin. He's my..." Blinking, I looked at Lydia. It occurred to me then that I was going to have to introduce Alduin as my husband to her. And Meeko. And probably Balgruuf unless I wanted to run the risk of appearing incredibly rude should the Jarl find out from someone else, such as the Companions because there was no way I could sneak away from Whiterun without paying my respects to Kodlak who would surely want to know about the mysterious man who could ride a dragon when even the Dragonborn could not and dear gods, so would the entire city because as everyone knew, Whiterun guards were incredibly gossipy, especially those saddled with night shifts—

"Breathe my Thane," Lydia ordered sharply and I inhaled at once. "Who is that man to you?"

"Um, well, it's a long story..." Oh yes, if I truly wanted to avoid suspicion, I should certainly start with that line. 'Way to go, Freyja.'

"Is that a ring on your wedding finger?"

Damned Nightingale gloves and their cutouts. I fought the belated urge to hide my hands behind my back, especially since Lydia's eyes were starting to bulge.

"My Thane, did you marry this man?"

I was contemplating telling Lydia the truth—at least about being married and it being Sanguine's fault—and swearing her to secrecy, as well as buying a pair of gloves without any missing parts when the sound of war horns split the air. "Stormcloaks!" the guards on the walls shouted down to us. "They're in the city!"

It couldn't be. I turned to look at the fleeing army in the distance. On the plains the trebuchet that had destroyed the first defensive archway lay in ruins, parts of it breaking off as it slowly collapsed from the dragon fire that was consuming it. Bodies garbed in grey and blue littered the ground. In the skies the dragon wheeled, its triumphant roar a thinner echo on the wind.

Yet somehow, Ulfric had outsmarted us.


	39. Chapter 39

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hey everyone, I managed to squeeze in another chapter before the year is out. Sadly, sometime around this year, I thought I would be done with Dragonrend but that did not happen! Maybe next year, somewhere around this time. And on that note, may you all have a wonderful 2014!_

_Wispadori: Oh dear, if you feel that way then you really should skip this chapter. Duesal10: Thanks so much and for always being so incredibly supportive. Ghanimajade: I'm so glad you liked it. And I checked out the song, which is strange and wonderful. It's one of those which has a story that's begging to be told. Pint-Sized She-Bear: Thank you for recommending this! I hope you found the DB quest as darkly delicious and disturbing as I found it. Dovahsebrom: I suppose 'absolute badass' would certainly apply in the chapter. :) MetaLucario: Aw, you are really sweet to say that. And as for the Sithis angle, yes, there will be a conflict. Everyone wants a piece of the Dragonborn's soul. Zute: Zute! I am still waiting for "We Know" but you already know that. :P Well, the Muse promptly deserted me for most of this month, such is the nature of Muses. I hope yours was kinder to you. And I hope you are feeling better too! P.S: Why am I not surprised that you probably figured out how this story is going to end? SirAC: Shhh...don't tell anyone that. *L* Toasted Panic: Thank you! Reviews like yours help me get through the dry periods when the Muse is an ass and I have to force the words out. And thus I will see this through somehow. MagicNein: I'm sure Alduin feels the same way about finally not being interrupted. I'll see if I can make that happen. Blmollo: Thank you so much! You are too kind and I smiled myself silly when I read your review. Truly, I do appreciate it. WishingNova: Well, this was as soon as I can manage. And thanks for the support! This story has made me write and think about events like war and combat scenes which I've never written before. So it's great to know you and some others like it. TalaReh: You're welcome. :) And while this is late for Christmas, perhaps you'll accept a Happy New Year present? Flickerjsh: Well, what you said about taking events and exploring new possibilities is exactly what I endeavour to do with fanfiction. So thank you for that lovely compliment. I must confess, this story has become a lot longer than anything I set out to write. Still, I am enjoying myself and learning. As for chapters...I think we might be done in another ten to twelve._

**DRAGONREND **

**XXXIX.**

Dragons know no mercy, and therefore they show none. Alduin did not so much smile as he did bare his teeth as Odahviing drew back his head and from deep within the depths of his cavernous belly came the rumble of dragon flame. Firestorms, the men called them, gifted with a thunder that was all their own which made men cower and flee in all directions, a wrath greater perhaps then even that which the unending skies could rain down.

"_TOOR... SHUL_!"

His grip on the red dragon's horns tightened as that great head swung in a deadly arc, jaws snapping wide open and out spewed an inferno that burned hotter than any in all the worlds, that formed and sustained the very heart of Nirn's sun. The Stormcloaks died screaming before the flames reached them, the flesh on their bones melting to fuse with their armour as the heat slew them. Arrowheads turned to slag, the shafts burned away to nothingness as the dragon's fire consumed everything in its path. And those that it missed, the buffeting winds from Odahviing's wings drove back.

'If not for the Thu'um, if not for his betrayal..." A meddling Divine might have gifted the mortals with the ability to use Dragon Tongue but the one who taught them how to form the Words, to unlock the might that ought to have been the privilege and birthright of the Dov alone could not be forgiven. His brother was never too far from his thoughts, especially now that they were so close to the Monahven. The great mountain loomed in the distance, and perhaps it was because of this, because the memory of his banishment at the hands of inferior creatures rose to taunt him, Alduin allowed Odahviing to decimate the fleeing Stormcloak forces. Ulfric Stormcloak had sent an army into Whiterun. No more than a handful of broken men with shattered spirits would return to him.

Then he heard it, the reedy echoes of war horns stretched thin by the wind. Alduin turned and eyes that still held a fraction of the superb vision of a true Dovah pierced the distance between himself and the city. There was smoke rising from Whiterun, smoke that had not been there when they had flown over it. He could see no more beyond that but age old instinct warned him that something was wrong and as surely as he breathed, that Freyja would be right in the thick of it.

"Enough!" he bellowed, tugging on Odahviing's horns, causing the latter to break off in mid-dive mere feet away from three soldiers. "Take me back to the city!"

"It is secure," Odahviing argued, clearly disgruntled at having been forced to give up the hunt. "Your enemies lie scattered and in ruins. They—" Abruptly, he broke off as he wheeled around, rising higher through the air.

"What do you see?" Alduin demanded sharply, fighting the temptation to rise in his seat. One slip and he would plummet to the ground. Of course there were Words to protect himself from falling to his death but there was no telling how it would affect his lieutenant's behaviour towards him. As of now, the only thing that reined in the winged snow hunter was the threat, the promise of greatness regained when he recovered his form. The less weakness he showed, the more secure the other's allegiance to him.

"The blue soldiers are inside the city." There was a pause and Alduin felt cold fingers of dread slither down his spine. "The Dovahkiin has been ambushed. She bleeds." Without waiting for his master's command, Odahviing surged forward, unfurling the massive span of his wings to their full length, angling them as they cut through the air and Alduin had to gasp for breath and look down, let the Blades helmet absorb the impact of the wind. Far below, the ground seemed to melt away, swallowed by the shadow of the dragon.

He feared he was already too late.

* * *

><p>"They're in the city!"<p>

Again, the sound of a war horn pierced the air, only to die abruptly midway. Somewhere, a Whiterun guard had just perished.

For a moment, standing above the drawbridge that remained unfallen to the enemy, Lydia and I stood paralysed with disbelief. Then, we sprang into action. "Stay here," she instructed the guards who had been holding the drawbridge with her, "shoot anything in blue that moves."

"You two, eyes on the main gates and watch their backs," I snapped over my shoulder as Lydia and I broke into a run for the main gate.

"Open the doors for the Thane!" Someone on the wall shouted. The great clanking of chains and the groan of weatherworn wood that had endured thus far started just as we slid to a stop outside it.

"Damn Ulfric and his entire line for this!" Lydia seethed as she drew Chillrend out with a harsh ring. The glass sword shone with a hard light, cold pouring from it like white smoke. Mercer's betrayal had been far too fresh in my mind and on my person for me to keep the blade, but it was a formidable weapon and Lydia had sprung to mind as I wondered what to do with it. In her hands, it would be not just deadly, but also worthy.

"I know Hrongar would never part from Balgruuf at such a time but the children have been hidden, especially Frothar?" There was no way Ulfric would have been able to sneak a second army into Whiterun. No, the soldiers that were inside would be a smaller and probably more highly skilled contingent. Where brute force failed, there were other ways of succeeding. Balgruuf was a good Jarl who loved his people but he loved his family more. If his children were seized, there was a very likely chance he might surrender. Or, perhaps the Stormcloak infiltrators had been tasked with one deed only, and that was the death of Whiterun's Jarl and his brother. Frothar was a mere child, unfit for rule. Someone else would be selected. 'And that someone else would be from the Grey-manes.'

"They are with Andurs. Irileth and Proventus disguised and sent them to the Hall of the Dead once the fighting began. It was the best we could do, given the circumstances," Lydia replied in low, cautious tones. Before us, the doors began to part and she instinctively raised her shield, holding it closer to her chest as she stepped slightly in front of me. It was the same steel shield that her father had borne before her, all that was left to a heartbroken daughter when he had been slain by marauding Frost trolls while out on a routine patrol. Lydia had refused to trade it in for a better one; the most I'd been able to do was persuade her to take it to Kodlak and have him improve it as much as it could.

"You'd best go to them. Andurs is a good man but he's no warrior and if Ulfric's found a way into the city, he might have planted spies and they would know where the children are."

"But—"

"I will go to Balgruuf. I promise I will keep him safe." I touched her shoulder, felt the rough scratch of her tunic beneath my fingers and not for the first time did I wish she would don pauldrons if she insisted on wearing heavy armour. "Trust me, Lydia."

"It's not that. I am sworn to protect you. The gods know I have been by your side little enough." Frustration etched itself in every line on her face, as did a familiar stubborn look. By now, the doors had opened sufficiently for me to look straight down the long deserted street that ran from the main entrance to the Plains District. Whiterun guards were scurrying up the steps and I could see smoke rising. On the wind came a sweet scent mixed with stink of smoke and ash.

The Gildergreen was burning. So the fighting was taking place in the Wind District. That it was happening so near Jorrvaskr... There was only one other way into the city, a secret passage held by the inner circle of the Companions and I only knew of its existence because the dim light from the torches within the Underforge had revealed it. Memories of fire and darkness in a ruined sanctuary screamed that there was some form of treachery involved. "Too late! Too late!" Cicero's screech echoed through my mind.

"It is through no fault of yours. Help me by keeping the children safe. Even if Balgruuf lives, Whiterun will fall if Ulfric takes them. It's small comfort knowing that he won't kill the children."

"That's because he can't. Even if Ulfric intends to hold a moot, which will be as much a sham as is his claim to honour, none of the Jarls will nominate a child-slayer as High King."

"Lydia..."

"Very well," she all but growled, and just in time too for the gates swung wide open with one last mighty heave from the guards. "You there," she pointed at three of them as we stepped through, "follow me. The rest of you will guard the Thane. Those of you on the wall," she tilted her head back, brown eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun, "stay in position and guard these gates."

The clash of steel and battle cries was clear enough in the distance. But what was louder was the relative silence around us. I felt the weight of my Daedric blade in my hand as I looked around sharply. Something was not right—

Nocturnal's luck had always manifested itself in many ways, most of them surprising. _Move._ Then I heard it, a muted twang that was little more than a rustle, the merest breath of a whisper. There was no time to Shout, barely time to think. As I twisted, throwing myself to the side while trying to call a warning, burning pain sheared down the side of my face and the ground rushed up to meet me.

"Freyja!" Lydia's scream soared above the sudden explosion of sound that melded into a dense web all around me. The guard behind me collapsed, the feathered shaft of an arrow protruding from his throat. His boots kicked against my side as his body jerked in its death throes. If there was perhaps one thing I despised as much as dragons or Daedric princes stalking me, it was arrows. I couldn't shoot them to save my soul and they were always the hardest to guard against.

"_TIID!_"

That was the furthest I got before the agony in my cheek spiked its way up behind my eyes and the world seemed to explode a second time. The leather half-mask dangled from one side of the ancient cowl, ripped free by the arrow that had been meant to pierce right through my skull. And while the glow of a healing spell engulfed me, it did not dispel the warm wetness which coated my cheek and dripped down my chin, nor was I spared the grinding of broken bones as my cheek and jaw knitted themselves back together.

Through a haze of silver-grey and involuntary tears I saw the Stormcloaks. There were five of them, all archers and they had been hiding behind Warmaiden's, near the forge and smelter. But what made me curl my lips back in a snarl was the hail of arrows singing slowly through the air at Lydia, the two surviving guards on the ground with us and myself. My housecarl had her shield raised; she was moving in my direction, trying to put herself between me and what must have seemed to be likely death. Apparently, Balgruuf and his children weren't the only targets on Ulfric's list. Perhaps his goodwill and patience with the Dragonborn had run out. Maybe his soldiers didn't give two septims about the Elder Scroll prophecy or the ending of the world, and simply wanted to eliminate any threat to securing their Jarl's victory.

Whatever it was, they were about to learn the same lesson that I learnt the day I faced my first dragon and tried to slay it. You only get one chance. And if you miss, death follows. From behind, a great gust of wind began to roll, just as a roar wound its way into the heavy stillness wrought upon the world around us by the Shout.

Alduin and his dragon were here. But those Stormcloaks were mine. I moved.

* * *

><p>She rolled, rising from the ground in a low sprint as she snatched up her blade with her right hand, Elven dagger already gleaming in her left. It would have been easy enough for her to stand back, to let him incinerate those who had drawn her blood with one breath from Odahviing. But that was not a Dovah's way.<p>

Freyja tore her way through the arrows, the Daedric blade a whirl of black and red, the Elven blade sparking fire as it struck down the projectiles. As the broken shafts and arrowheads hit the ground, time uncoiled itself as the command of the Thu'um faded.

"Shoot her!"

"Dragon! Slay the dra—!"

The female Stormcloak with an open helm was the first to go down, Freyja's thrown dagger burying itself up to the hilt in her skull with a fiery burst. As the Dragonborn ripped a bloody swath through the torso of another soldier, cutting through chainmail, bone and flesh, the rest moved in on her, dropping their bows in favour of blades and war hammers. Freyja whirled, a cloud of black behind her and Alduin realised she had her cloak in hand. She flung the heavy leather in the faces of the Stormcloaks and it struck them, spread like a shroud as they cried out and tore uselessly at it with their weapons and hands. While she thrust her sword up and into the belly of one, the other two soldiers screamed because of the arrows that pierced them.

"For Whiterun!" The brown-haired woman shouted as she and the guards beside her fired again. Seconds later, all three Stormcloaks collapsed, never to rise again. Without missing a beat, the woman whirled around, another arrow nocked to her lowered bow as she backed warily away. This one was no fool, Alduin thought. Odahviing may have destroyed the Stormcloak army but only those that lacked sense would trust a dragon.

"Dovahkiin," Odahviing rumbled. Freyja's pale blue eyes were steel as she stared down his lieutenant. She looked ready to pounce, and he saw something akin to hunger flicker over her face. In front of her, the guards and the other woman formed a loose ring. This time, their bows were held higher. All were ready to shoot.

"_Hin Thu'um los mul, mal Dovah,_" the red dragon mocked, lowering himself onto the ramparts which shuddered beneath his weight. "For one so little, your Thu'um is strong."

Freyja's only response was to shift her grip on her blade. The hard gleam in her eyes grew brighter. "For one so old, you are not very wise," she countered.

Both dragon and Dragonborn looked ready to tear into each other. And for the first time in his ageless existence, Alduin played the peacemaker. "Odahviing," he said sharply. "_Rek los ni hinah nuz ungol. Ahzaal hin sahrx._ Leave her be. Now, I wish to dismount."

"As you command." Odahviing took every care to be courteous, but Alduin knew very well how displeased the other Dovah was at being dismissed. The Dragonborn was a legend in her own right, a strange and rare phenomenon born of an agreement between Akatosh and a slave queen. To test her Thu'um was a temptation that even he had not been able to resist. 'And look how well that ended,' he thought sardonically, sliding from Odahviing's neck onto the city wall. If not for the hard armour that protected him, the fragile mortal skin he wore would have been cut to shreds.

He had barely finished his brief nod when Odahviing took to the skies, his leap into the air sending tremors through the ground. The red dragon circled the city once, roaring simply for the pleasure of seeing the mortals scatter, their terror of him surpassing their hatred of each other. And then he was gone.

When he reached her side, Freyja had refastened her cloak. A sharp flick had yielded no splatter but he wondered if she could see the web of dark crimson that stained it. When she withdrew her dagger from the corpse of the Stormcloak soldier, tendrils of smoke hissed out from its blackened skull. She looked battle-worn and weary, soaked in the blood of her enemies with a thin trickle of her own still running from the partially healed wound on her face. With three pairs of nakedly curious eyes watching their every move, Alduin decided against snatching her into his arms to satisfy the relief he felt. He did not care about the opinion of the other humans, only that such a public expression made him feel oddly vulnerable; he also suspected that Freyja would not appreciate it. So he decided on the other course of action that had occurred to him.

"Can I not turn my back once without finding you in some kind of trouble?" he demanded, the glow of a healing spell flooding his hand a scant second before it illuminated her person. As expected, Freyja glared at him and he suspected she would have hit him with the flat of her blade if not for the presence of the others. What was unexpected was the smothered snort of amusement from the fierce woman warrior. Clearly, that one was in service to Freyja.

"Try turning your back now," she suggested with false sweetness. "And we'll see who will be in trouble."

"Actually, it would be this Ulfric Stormcloak." Before she could stop him, he grasped her chin, tilting her face so that he could better see its side. Gently, he swiped at the drying layers of blood. Underneath, there was a thin scar, stark white in its freshness and it ran down her cheekbone and beneath her temple. "What city is he Jarl of?"

"Wind—"

"Lydia!"

* * *

><p>Instead of looking chastised, my housecarl looked unrepentantly stubborn. "You are not telling him anything. And neither are the rest of you," I instructed the guards, one of whom was looking at the ground while the other pretended to examine his bow. I was willing to bet a bagful of septims that neither of them really wanted to be here at this moment. "Nobody is going to burn down any Holds or cities with a dragon just because I have a scar."<p>

"The man tried to kill you," Alduin replied flatly as I pushed his hands away from my face. "That kind of challenge does not go unanswered."

Lydia looked as though she wanted to voice her agreement, but a quick look from me quelled that. "You have answered him, you and your red dragon. His army is destroyed." He looked slightly mollified at that reminder. "But we still have a Jarl and his children to defend. Lydia, take these guards and go to the children. Aldin and I will take the palace."

She didn't look entirely happy with my instructions, but having Alduin around helped to convince her that I wasn't running off into danger all by myself. It was an eternally sore point between us, one that had taken time, respect and many pointless arguments to settle, but also occasionally reared its ugly head. "As you wish, my Thane."

"Take these." A quick rummage through my pouch yielded three tiny sachets filled with grey powder. "I'm out of invisibility potions but vampire dust works just as well. Watch the roofs for hidden archers. Don't die on me."

"I ought to be saying that to you." The squeeze she gave my hand was brief, fierce and affectionate, much like the woman herself. "And before I forget to tell you," she pulled me closer, her voice dropping lower. "I like your husband."

"You would," I muttered. "At least one of us is looking forward to the formal introductions." She flashed me a grin, then she was off and running, easily scaling the steps three at a time while the guards followed behind. When I swung around, the insufferably smug look on Alduin's face informed me that he had heard every word.

"I must say you chose well with that woman. She is not too bad, for a servant."

"Refer to her as such in her presence and I promise you, you won't like her as much. She's my housecarl, and you'll be hardpressed to find a finer soldier in Whiterun." Inhaling sharply, I prepared to Shout, but Alduin's hand on my arm stopped me.

"The way is clear. Did you not think that I would see to your safety?"

If I looked too long, I might fall into those golden eyes. He smiled slightly, as though he had read my thoughts. "Come. Ulfric would surely have sent some of his trusted lieutenants on this mission. I wish to send their heads back to him. That would complete my answer."

It might have been romantic, if it had not been so morbid. Then again, this was the World Eater in question here. And a couple of severed heads was better than having Ulfric wake up to find Windhelm besieged by fire and rivers of blood. If one thought of it this way, it wasn't so bad.

... ...

A dagger went right through my eye and I caught the look of surprise and horror on the soldier's face as I ran through him. Arrows fired at us found no mark in flesh turned spectral by the power of the Thu'um.

The city centre was a chaotic battlefield of flashing steel and fallen bodies but two things held my attention. The first was the opened doors of Dragonsreach. The second was the sound of howling that was coming from Jorrvaskr. It was the sound of werewolves. Something was terribly wrong in the hall of the Companions.

"What are you doing?" Alduin hissed as I slowed down. He would have grabbed me, but that would have ended the Shout's enchantment. "The palace is up there."

I had to choose.

The Thu'um wore off just as we crossed the palace threshold. Before his throne, Balgruuf was struggling against a giant of a man clad in a bearskin; it had to be Galmar Stone-Fist. Hrongar, bleeding and motionless, lay prone on the steps leading to the platform. Irileth had been driven back to the hearth, and while she was holding her own against two Stormcloak officers whom I didn't recognise, there was no way she was going to reach Balgruuf in time. Lightning crackled from a balcony above and I saw Farengar, wreathed in lightning and hurling ice shards at several Stormcloaks that were slowly inching their way towards him with raised shields. Scattered across the length of the main hall were several Whiterun guards engaged in skirmishes with the remaining Stormcloaks.

A blow from Galmar sent Balgruuf reeling as he parried it. Staggering backwards, he knocked into the brazier on the right and went down on one knee. Galmar raised his battle-axe and I remembered the feel of the rough wet chopping block as the executioner stood over me. Beyond the dull rusty blade, the sky had looked so blue.

"Balgruuf!" Irileth screamed, her sword flashing in the light of the fire. The Jarl of Whiterun threw himself backward, rolling away a split second before the curved blade sliced down, burying itself in the floor. With a roar, Galmar tore it free. But by then, Balgruuf had regained his footing and came lunging back in a fierce attack.

"Help the Dark Elf!" I shouted to Alduin as I broke from his side, weaving my way past the struggling combatants. As soon as I cleared the last step to the dining area, I unleashed a flurry of ice shards. From this distance, they were unlikely to hit Ulfric's second-in-command. But they had the exact effect I was hoping for. They distracted him. "You!" Fury contorted his already savage appearance. "Traitorous bitch!"

One of the Stormcloaks battling Irileth tried to dodge past her. He yowled as she opened a gaping wound in his arm. Keeping the long table between us, I bolted down the left side of the dining area, forcing Galmar to slow his assault on Balgruuf because he knew I was coming up from behind. The burn of the Thu'um still singed my throat as I swung myself over the carved balustrade enclosing the platform. It would be long seconds before I could Shout again. But that did not mean that I couldn't use fire. With both hands, I thrust the Daedric blade into the brazier and flung its red-hot contents at Galmar. Caught between Balgruuf and I, and with the balustrade and blocked steps behind him making it difficult to retreat, he had started to back away in the direction of the throne. There was no place for him to dodge as the burning ash and coals hit him. I smelt singed fur and skin, heard a furious roar that might well have come from a bear, and Galmar fought back, wielding that great axe with an ease and speed that only a giant should have possessed. He went for Balgruuf first, smashing him square in the chest with the end of the axe haft. Then he struck at me. The force of the blow shook my arms all the way up to my sockets when I parried, both hands wrapped in a grim hold on the grip of my sword. The Daedric blade would not break; my bones were another thing altogether. Then, with lightning speed, Galmar slid the battle-axe forward before twisting it so that the curve of the axe-head hooked around the cross-guard of my sword.

The bastard was trying to disarm me. If I twisted my hold on the grip and slashed downwards, it would free my sword but leave me an open target. All Galmar had to do was ram the axe forward and impale me on those wicked edges. Balgruuf was getting to his feet, visibly winded and he would be too late.

With all my might, I pushed to the side just before Galmar yanked. The battle-axe swung wide, my sword went flying, and I leapt forward just as he realised what I was about. He didn't fall, merely grunted as I slammed into him. It was a move that would have been laughable had it not been for the Elven dagger that slipped from my glove into my hand and which I plunged into the gap at the side of his armour. I had been aiming for his neck, but his arms had closed over me like a vice, pinning me to that great chest. Still, I could feel the gnashing of the blade against his ribs and he howled when I twisted the handle, digging it further in with all the strength I could muster.

"You...dirty thief..." he gasped through clenched teeth. I would have laughed, but for the fact that Galmar seized me by the front of my neck, his fingers starting to dig through the soft leather of the cowl. He was going to crush my throat.

"_FUS RO DAH!_"

There was a loud sickening crack, the kind made when branches are twisted and ripped from the tree. I squeezed my eyes shut, turned my head away as much as I could but it didn't stop the rain of hot blood that struck me almost full in the face and choked me with its stench. Then I was falling together with the body, falling and blind and struggling as I flung his arms from me and hit the ground, rolling as far as I could manage before I got to my knees and vomited. My hands wiped frantically at my face, brushing and pulling at the mix of soft and solid substances that I refused to acknowledge were his bones and brains.

So it was true. You could Shout a person to pieces.


	40. Chapter 40

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Alright, I've gotten enough shut-eye and can now thank you all properly. MetaLucario: Oh my goodness, thank you for that comparison! It's exceedingly high praise because I (and millions) adore his books and his imagination. He was an amazing author and so thank you again! thedarkeuphie: Weeell...technically I cheated my around the mental picture. I tried to write it straight up and gory but sometimes less is more. Winter'sSentinel: Yeah, Freyja for the win. :) Duesal10:Really? There's a term for that? Now I know. She did that to most of his head but...anyways, moving on. NyKle: It was Freyja, definitely. She reacted on survival instincts and besides, if Alduin had done it, he would have sent both of them flying. ItalianEmpress1985: I hope you've recovered by now! You have my complete sympathy and empathy. As for Torygg being shouted apart, it's interesting that both the Empire and Stormcloaks say different things. I based my decision based on what was said by the people in Elisif's court and Torygg himself. I have theories about why Ulfric might want to say otherwise but this isn't the place for my theories. The key factor for me was Torygg; I doubt the man would lie when he's in the House of Valour. As for sexy dragons...rawr. I saw Smaug too and part of me was thinking "evil but hot" as well. Julie5: I hope you had a great start to this new year! DragonflyxParodies: Thank you for mentioning Lydia! I'm so glad because I was making an effort to make her stand out even though hers was a more minor role. MissSouthernBelle: Thank you so much. It's because of reviews like yours that I feel compelled to whack the chapters into submission even though it's 2am at night and I have work in the morning. :) Seriously, you guys rock. Zute: Trust you to bring up an interesting possibility and change my plot before I've even written that part out. Then again, it is you. :P I hope you've had a great new year so far and that the Muse is treating you kindly with your DA story. Copperflower: I'm blushing! And thank you for pointing out the line break omission; I fixed that asap. As for leaving the chapter off like that..hmm...I adore cliffhangers or significant endings. HereLies says I'm the author version of Irene Adler. *L* And I'm so glad you mentioned Lydia; it makes all the effort and thought worth it. All the best to you in this new year too. EvoKov: *G* Well, all I have to give are the chapters so...On the other hand, love that you found Galmar's death "wonderfully gruesome". I was just afraid I would be inundated by Stormcloak supporters. Thella: Aha, I see what you did there. Hope your nails have recovered. I have more fight scenes planned. TruthDawnsinFire: Well, it was certainly one of the more exhausting ones! I'm so chuffed you think it's one of the best so far. :) As for Alduin and the MQ, that's an absolutely sweet compliment. TalaReh: Thanks! Actually, my pen-name is pronounced "MI-RIEL". I modelled it after Tar-Miriel from Tolkien's 'Silmarillion'. Qair: Now that you mentioned The Burglary Job...Gods, bad Muse to leave Ondolemar hanging like that. I can't believe you read this tome twice! I never meant for it to get this long though but...somehow it seems to be working and I'm so pleased you're coming along for this ride. Magery: Thank you! I'll kill Freyja myself if she ever turned Mary-Sue. I hate them because it makes for a boring story. Unless one is writing a parody. Love the ones in the LOTR fandom. As for Shadowmere being an underrated character, yes actually. There's a lot more I wish Bethesda had done with that wonderful creature. ChristineFury: I saw the delicious artwork on Tumblr! Your human Alduin is HAWT. Thank you so much for that; it did give my Muse that big kick in her ass that she so needed. Everyone should see a clip of that bug where Shadowmere attacks Alduin. *L* Limadunia: Well, the story is moving, just not in terms of a literal and direct journey to High Hrothgar. Trust me, they will get there and it will be a definite ending of sorts. Thank you though for staying with the story and for leaving a great review. :)_

**DRAGONREND **

**XL.**

It had taken two days before the bodies of the dead had been cleared from the battlefield and the city walls. Ulfric had sent an army nearly three thousand strong against a city whose guards numbered three hundred. Within the span of a day, he had lost almost every man. Within that same span of time, Whiterun had lost close to one hundred of its brave precious few who had not flinched from what must have seemed a lost cause. Amongst our dead were several civilians, citizens of Whiterun who had taken up arms in her defence.

"My Thane." It was as much the sudden sound of Lydia's voice, as it was the uncharacteristic gentleness in it that drew me from my thoughts. I realised I had been staring the soft worn hood in my hands. Ulfberth and Adrienne had taken my Nightingale armour and the ancient cowl for repairs; they charged no fee as a repayment for Lydia's timely arrival, which saved not just the children but also Adrienne's life as well as that of her father's. The Whiterun guards had been slain though, and now Andurs resided in the Temple of Kynareth, one of Danica's many patients, another casualty of what would surely brew from a battle into a full out war against Ulfric.

There would be no assaults on Holds or on cities for now. There might be bloody skirmishes here and there, Black Sacraments performed that would go unanswered because I had made it exceedingly clear to Babette and Nazir that the Brotherhood would not involve itself in political shenanigans ever again, and plenty of spying. But it would be at least weeks before the Empire, backed by the Aldmeri Dominion, made a move to crush Ulfric Stormcloak once and for all. It would be one long war, for however brief and long. It would be bloody. The presence of Imperial soldiers was a pretty obvious foreshadow of what was to come. There had been no choice for Balgruuf, not anymore. Now, everyone had to take a side.

"My Thane, what did you say?"

I hadn't been aware of when thought slipped its way past my lips. What I most keenly felt was the dry burn of my eyes, the fatigue that clung to my body as I donned the rest of my Thieves Guild armour, the sight of the worn leather and scuffed buckles stirring to life the ghost of another life left behind. It had been so long since I had been to the Ragged Flagon. The last time had been on less than happy business, and even then I had been disguised. Deceiving Delvin had been a validation of everything that Gabrielle had taught me. Beyond that though, I felt—absurdly—left behind and forgotten.

"Is it time already?" I tugged the hood lower over my face before finishing up the remnants of a Stamina potion that I had left on the bedside table. For a moment, I sank my hands further into the soft pelts, wishing that I could lie down and sleep everything away. In the last twenty-four hours, I had rested for perhaps five. Most of the time had been spent combing through rubble for bodies and carting the survivors and injured to the Temple for treatment. Even in the silence of the room I could hear Olfina's screams with perfect clarity when they found Jon Battle-Born's body half-crushed beneath the broken rock and mortar of the smashed archway. Jervar had wailed while his father had shown more control; Skulvar Sable-Hilt's face was a grim mask but his hands trembled as he knelt by the still black body of Allie, feathered with arrows. Next to her were the fallen carcasses of two sable horses. The sound of desolate barking and frantic whining as a bleeding grey hound ran to and fro calling for a mistress who was past hearing it echoed in the dreams that lashed my brief sleep.

"You know it is."

Looking up, I saw that she was decked out in full armour. Chillrend was strapped to her side, and on her back she had her bow and a full quiver of arrows. I gave her a wan smile. "Wearing pauldrons now I see. What's the special occasion?"

She scowled slightly but it was more for show than anything else. "Well, perhaps the fact that this morning two Legates with contingents showed up demanding your arrest and all that's standing between them is your Jarl and a city that would probably go to war again then let its Thane be taken." She couldn't quite keep a touch of pride out of her voice. "Well, that and the fact that Balgruuf made it very clear that your husband is some kind of Greybeard who can summon and ride dragons."

Getting to my feet, I took my Daedric sword from her hand and slipped the sword belt around my waist. "I bet he didn't tell them that said husband is out gallivanting in the wilds with a dragon skull." I wanted to take back the words as soon as they spilled out, biting my tongue but the pain did little to alleviate my regret. Lydia looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Come on, we've got a funeral to attend to."

To her credit, Lydia did not ask which one. As we descended the stairs, Meeko leapt to his feet, his tail wagging furiously. He was wearing a new set of thick, studded leather armour that covered his back and chest. "Are you coming with us?" I teased gently, rubbing his ears as he whined softly and slurped a moist tongue over my other hand. "You did fight bravely after all." Meeko had been in the catacombs with the children and according to Adrienne, he had fought like three wolves, giving them a chance to hold off the Stormcloaks until Lydia had arrived.

"Oh, he's coming alright," Lydia said grimly. "I didn't train him as a war hound for him to be kept at home."

"I seriously doubt the Legates are going to try to kill or snatch me from out under Balgruuf's nose. They might wait until I leave the city, but for now, the people are grieving and even the Empire can show a sense of decency. As long as no Thalmor arrive."

It felt strange walking through the deserted Plains District. The only other people around were the Khajits who had been granted refuge in the city; they had pitched their tents behind Breezehome and Warmaiden's. In a way it seemed a perfect emblem of the aftermath of Whiterun's incredible victory. Once the shouts of triumph had faded, once the euphoria had run out, once the wonderment of having a dragon battle on one's behalf was gone, there were the dead to attend to, the losses that had to be stacked up against that which remained, the walking wounded of widows, widowers, sudden orphans or parents robbed of their children that no healing spell or potion could cure.

There was Balgruuf who had lost a beloved brother. Proventus Avenicci would probably walk with a limp and a crutch for the rest of his life but it was better than losing his leg, which had been Jenssen's initial prognosis. That was provided no infection set in within the next five days. Bergritte and Olfrid Battle-Born had lost both their son and daughter. Avulstein Gray-Mane had died on the battlements of Whiterun, next to Amren who had been wielding the iron sword that I had helped him retrieve from Swindler's Den.

And then there were the Companions, who were now leaderless. Beneath the partially scorched Gildergreen I raised my eyes, tracing those steps I had chosen not to take. I had known then that there had been a price to pay. I just hadn't envisioned that it would be so costly. Up on the Skyforge I could see it, Kodlak's pyre, lined with rich crimson and gold cloth and if I looked closer I would see the man himself, but I couldn't. Instead I lowered my head and hoped the hood would obscure the sudden sheen of tears that splintered my vision. If Lydia heard the slight catch in my breath, she gave no notice of it, choosing to follow closely behind as we ascended the winding stairway to Dragonsreach.

The guards patrolling the passageway to the doors quickly fell into line when they saw us coming. It was a salute of sorts, certainly more than anything I had received even when I had been made Thane. I half suspected it was also the most respectful way that they could concoct to get completely clear of me. It had been just two days but I couldn't help overhearing the wild rumours that had spread faster than dragon fire through the city. I had blown Galmar Stone-Fist's entire body to pieces with my Shout. Another version claimed that I hadn't Shouted at all; instead I had roared like the dragon that I truly was and almost brought down the entire roof. Yet another stated that the force of my Thu'um had sent his head flying straight through the walls of Dragonsreach and out onto the plains below. The latest story was that I had reached a level that surpassed even that of the Greybeards and that by simply whispering to a person, I risked shattering him into pieces.

As a result, Lydia and I had worked alone during the rescue and salvage effort until she had gotten exasperated enough to commandeer some guards to assist us. Once, I had sneezed and the men had fallen over themselves just to scramble some distance from me. After that, I noticed that everyone gave me a wide berth. The only people who didn't run from me or scoot backwards when I spoke to them were Balgruuf, Adrienne and Ulfberth, and Danica and her severely overworked Acolytes. I was used to people staring at me in awe and fascination. Some had even treated me as some kind of hero worthy of personal aspiration. Men of power like Ulfric and Tullius looked at me with the kind of lust that one reserved for powerful weapons. The Thalmor didn't give a septim that I had Dragon blood in me; in their eyes, the fact that I wasn't an Altmer was all that mattered. Until today though, I had never had anyone feel horror simply because of the fact that I was the Dragonborn.

"Well, it looks like someone is glad to see you," Lydia muttered. "For once, Farengar isn't scowling like the haughty bastard he is."

She was right. In fact he looked quite...eager. It was almost the same kind of look he got when he ran into Arcadia, thanks to some love potion she had slipped into his drink as an experiment. Unfortunately, she had become the recipient of his unwanted affections. I knew of no one else in Skyrim who courted the object of his passions by leaving Daedra hearts on her doorstep. Granted, she was an alchemist but there were limits to what a man could give in terms of gifts.

Sensing our mutual dislike of the court wizard, Meeko pricked up his ears and padded in front of us. His growl was soft but audible enough to be heard, certainly clear enough to bring Farengar up short. "Dovahkiin," he exclaimed, trying hard to smooth the frown that lined his brow each time he glanced at Meeko. "If you would call off this beast of yours..."

"This beast," I said calmly, picking up my pace and taking great pleasure in the fact that Meeko loped next to me, keeping Farengar at a distance, "helped defend the children and steward of the Jarl. What do you want?"

"I have a suggestion to put forth to you, purely in the interests of the advancement of knowledge of course."

Alduin had said to trust my Dragon's blood, my instincts. Right now, they were telling me that I was not going to like what Farengar had to suggest at all. "This might not be the best time..." As we passed his laboratory, I glanced at the platform. Fianna and Gerda had done an admirable job of scrubbing the wooden flooring but I could still see the spot where Galmar's body had bled out. The scattering of darker splotches indicated where the pieces of his head had landed. They would need wood workers to come in and stain the floor so that the marks would not be that obvious. 'And it would get rid of the smell of his blood.' It would be too late for me though. Galmar's scent was etched indelibly in my memory, along with the looks of sheer, naked horror and fear on the faces of every warrior in the hall when I had wiped the blood from my eyes and risen to my feet. The only person who had looked at me with something best described as approval—at least until he realised that there was a dragon's skull hanging on the wall—was the Dragon god of destruction masquerading in the body of a human. Even Balgruuf had been afraid of me then, although he soon mastered that fear.

"Well I wouldn't be wast—spending my time speaking with you but unfortunately, your husband does not seem to be around. In any case, back to the subject at hand. Your husband can summon dragons and well, you have no idea how long I have waited for such an opportunity."

I had one foot on the steps leading up to the second level. I stopped. "What did you say?" Behind me, Lydia muttered "Nine save us" under her breath. Neither that nor my incredulous tone fazed Farengar.

"I want your husband to call a dragon so that I can meet one," he clarified, emphasising each word in the manner that people reserved for those whom they deemed to be intellectually slower. "I would be most appreciative if I would be permitted to perform some, ah, tests on such a magnificent creature."

"What?" Lydia and I blurted out almost simultaneously. Meeko started growling in earnest and Farengar took several hasty steps back.

"I assure you, the dragon will not even notice me. Most of what I have in mind is hardly painful to a dragon, if it is purportedly as large as the guards claim it to be. A few scales, a small amount of blood. Surely it wouldn't even miss these—"

"Absolutely not!" Furious, I lunged forward. Farengar tried to turn and run but Meeko had darted behind and cut off his retreat. He ended up tripping over the hound and fell to the ground in an undignified heap. Leaning over him, I grabbed him by the collar of his robes and hauled him partially off the floor. "You listen to me right now and not a word out of you," I hissed. "My husband stormed out of this very hall with Numinex's skull; the very name of this palace is an affront to him. He's spent his entire life raised on the belief that dragons are sacred beings and you are asking me to ask him to offer one to you as a subject for experiment?" I shook him so hard his teeth rattled. "Not even Savos Aren the Arch-Mage himself would think of even dreaming of such stupidity!"

I dropped him before I could give in to the baser desire to slam his head back on the ground. "You're lucky my husband isn't around. For that alone, he might have just turned you into a second Galmar Stone-Fist."

Farengar turned a gratifying shade of pale before I turned on my heel and walked away. "Nicely done, my Thane," Lydia quipped. "And to you too Meeko." The dog responded with a loud happy bark. "I might call him a stupid dog sometimes but it's really all in affection," she murmured conspiratorially to me.

Trust Lydia to try to distract me. I tried to smooth my expression into something that less resembled furious. "Well, I feel the same about Aldin most of the time but yes, there's always that affection." My housecarl raised a slender brow at me and I realised what I had just said. "Not that I think of Aldin as a dog. I meant the part about being stupid. Not that he is stupid; he isn't at all actually. It's just that some of the things he does drives me crazy. What?" I demanded. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"Nothing. Look, the doors to the porch are open and everyone seems to be here, including that Legate who is glaring daggers at you. Skulnar, I take it?" Lydia rested the palm of her hand over the hilt of her sword, a casual threat if ever there was one. On my other side, Meeko stuck so close to me that I felt him occasionally brush against my leg.

"The very same one. I'm not sure who the other one is though. Apparently he's come all the way from Fort Neugrad."

"News in the Empire moves fast. I've heard Tullius has taken to employing trained hawks to carry messages. Couriers are still used but sometimes for misinformation."

It might have been callous on my part but I was glad that I didn't know Hrongar well or like him much, based on the loud and fairly public quarrels he had with Proventus. If I had been at Kodlak's funeral I might have bawled like a child but here, surrounded by Balgruuf's family, an honour guard and the families of the guards who had died protecting the children, I could feel grief but keep it at a distance, at least in public. The last thing I needed to do was weep in front of my enemy.

It would have been preferable to stay behind the small crowd of mourners. But I was the Dragonborn and since it was Hrongar's death that was also being honoured, there was little choice but for me to take a more prominent position somewhere nearer to the front.

There were five pyres and upon these were the bodies of the honoured dead. Each one was clad in the full regalia of the armour he donned in life, each clasped a sword to his chest. Their skin looked pale, almost hard, as though a light had gone out and all was left was the shell, remnants of a fast fading glow. The evening sun had descended sufficiently for the first of what would be a multitude of stars to appear. Secunda could be seen just over the edge where earth met sky. Somehow, it all seemed fitting.

I swallowed hard when the children and wives came forward to place sweet snowberries wreaths and blue mountain flowers on the pyres. Balgruuf stepped forward. Taking his sword from his side, he laid it atop his brother's body. Eydis had once told me about enduring love. It was the kind of love that lived with you as long as you lived. It was a love you learnt to bear and bear with once the person was no longer by your side. I could feel the warmth of the flames as Balgruuf, torch in hand, set each one alight.

"Before the ancient flame, we grieve," he intoned, his voice low and raw.

"Before the ancient flame, we grieve," we echoed. The sound of crackling wood grew louder.

"At this loss, we weep." Some of the children began sobbing softly and we raised our voices to drown out their sorrow.

"For the fallen, we shout!"

"And for ourselves, we take our leave," Balgruuf finished and like a dying wave on the shoreline, our voices rolled in after his. No one moved. Not the guards who had the blessed shields of their helmets to hide behind, nor the stoic men and women whose tears gleamed fire bright on their faces, nor the Jarl who looked haggard beyond his years yet grim and tall. So we remained, until the fires took them and the smoke climbed higher and higher into the sky. "For Sovngarde," Lydia whispered and it helped to know that if they made it there, their souls would find unimpeded passageway to the Hall of Valour.

... ...

Eventually though, the families had to leave. Somewhere out there, on the field of battle, at the Skyforge, the same scene was being replayed again and again.

I was not leaving until the Legates did. Their presence was an affront to me, an act of aggression and a clear sign of the Empire's presence in Whiterun. Balgruuf's eyes met mine and he inclined his head ever so slightly before turning around and walking out towards the furthest end of the porch. "Lydia, wait here. I would speak with the Jarl."

Out there on the edge, the cold rising winds tore at my hood and pushed it off my head. I could feel tendrils being ripped free of my braid. It did the same to Balgruuf's hair, blowing it into those deep blue eyes and pulling almost violently at the hem of his robes. Over us, the sky was a dull black lit with starlight and a faint red. Crimson Masser had joined its sister moon.

He moved close enough so that the sides of our arms almost touched. "Here, we will not be overheard."

"I can barely hear you as it is; I'll take your word for it."

A glint of amusement came and went as quickly as the morning and evening stars that streaked across the sky with their flashing tails of silver. "I have been informed that the Stormcloaks entered via a secret entrance beneath the Skyforge." A secret entrance that he had not known about and which was obviously no longer a secret.

It took an effort to get past the sudden lump in my throat. "I would not be welcomed there at the moment. I do have every intention of speaking with the Companions though."

Balgruuf looked pensive, brow wreathed in a slight frown. "I do not wish to pry but if it involves the security of my city..."

"I'll see what I can do." After all, that was the job of a Thane.

"Do it quickly. As Legates Skulnar and Cipius have so roundly informed me, the Empire is sending their forces to garrison Whiterun. Clearly, we are at risk and if Ulfric has assailed us once, he will undoubtedly do so again." Balgruuf snorted. "So they claim."

"You didn't have a choice." The great jewels that adorned Balgruuf's circlet winked merrily in the soft lights, oblivious to the fact that they rested heavily on the brow of the man who bore them.

"You know where I stand. When it had been up to me, it was never the Empire or the Stormcloaks."

"It was Whiterun."

"You and I, we mourn that dream this night." I looked away then, unable to trust myself for the hot sting at the backs of my eyes. "You will have to choose very soon, Freyja."

"Serve an Empire controlled by Altmer bigots or throw in my lot with Ulfric who wants Skyrim for the Nords alone." It was useless, all these scathing bitter words. "I've heard Elenwen at the Thalmor Embassy, and I've been to Windhelm. They are but different sides of the same septim."

"I know that," he replied softly, his voice so heavy with regret that it ought to have caught the wind and stilled it. "Heimskr has been locked up in the dungeon since this morning. He would not stop preaching about Talos and I feared the appearance of the Legates would work him up into a frenzy. So far, they've not demanded that I do anything about the statue. Yet."

So it had begun. "How long before the Imperial troops arrive?"

"Two more days at the latest. I would recommend a plan of escape," he glanced down at me, "but I have a feeling that you are far more experienced in such matters than I ever will be."

Wearing Thieves Guild armour was quite an obvious giveaway. I just wondered how much about my involvement with the Thieves Guild Balgruuf knew about. Or with the Dark Brotherhood, for that matter. It was a statement that needed no answer, so I held my tongue.

"And what of Alduin?"

It wasn't an unexpected question. And there were so many ways to answer that and only one acceptable reply. "He resurrects dragons, I kill those dragons. There might be a way to stop him, something that has never been revealed before. I must speak with the Greybeards as soon as possible."

"And your husband, the dragon-rider, he would not know of this?"

'Well played my Jarl,' I thought. Years ago, Balgruuf had made a pilgrimage to High Hrothgar. He had never seen Alduin there. It was both curiosity and suspicion which prompted that question. "He knows a great many things about dragon lore and the Thu'um. But in this, he is as ignorant as I am."

"I hope you find the answer soon. War is coming. If you do not prevail, it will hardly matter. All the might and magic of the Aldmeri Dominion, the Empire and the Stormcloaks could not stand against the World Eater. But if you do, you will come back to this."

"The prophecy speaks only of Alduin."

"_It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes_." It was a swift and brutal correction delivered in an almost paternal tone. "It is no mere song. Two days ago you charged into battle against an army. Even without the dragon, you would not have abandoned us."

A long time ago, it had seemed so simple. Defeat Alduin or die trying. And if I succeeded, I would go home. If Balgruuf was right, it would be another dream consumed in flames this night. 'You are a fool.' Between building a life, trying to survive, trying to become stronger, running from guild to guild, slaying an Emperor and evading gods, I had managed to largely avoid what I was now being confronted with. It took a few seconds for me to tamp the surge of emotion down, seconds that Balgruuf undoubtedly noticed. "Without the dragon, I would be dead and the song would be just a song and the prophecy would be fulfilled, one way or another." I looked over my shoulder, glancing at Lydia and Meeko.

"True." Like any worthy opponent, Balgruuf knew that he had made his point and was content to withdraw for now. "The hour runs late. I need to meet with Proventus about the victory celebrations tomorrow and compensation to be given out to the families of those we have honoured this night."

"You will have all you need to know before I leave. Good night, my Jarl."

He nodded and gladly, I hurried back to Lydia and Meeko. "Let's go," I urged. "I don't want to talk about it."

It was a testament to Lydia's strength that, even when decked out in heavy armor, she was able to keep pace with me as I all but ran out of Dragonsreach. I couldn't wait to get back to Breezehome, to sit down by the fire, drink some ale and eat so many sweetrolls that I would have to worry about indigestion in the morning instead of Balgruuf's words, my missing husband, the fact that Vilkas was likely to kill me when he found out I was responsible for Kodlak's death and that within a day or two, another small army that would gladly stick my head on a pike would be arriving. Dragging the heavy doors back, I yanked them open and practically threw myself out over the threshold only to crash face first into a solid armour-clad chest.

"Gods damn it!" I cursed, clutching my nose and backing away only to find myself trapped within the tight circle of someone's arms. Behind me, Meeko barked and snarled in a manner that could only be described as downright vicious. My eyes were watering now and I was sure at any moment blood would come pouring out of my nose. "You broke my nose you...you..."

"Shut up," a cool voice said from over my head and to my immense chagrin, Meeko went completely silent. "I meant that mangy creature, not you. Clearly he knows who his betters are." Firm hands settled on my arms and pushed me away before prising my hands from my face. "It looks a little bit red but hardly broken."

"And you would know this thanks to the extensive training you've received from renowned healers in Tamriel," I bit out.

"Well, it would hardly take all that training to point out that if your eyesight was not failing, you would have seen me standing right outside in full sight of you."

"I hate you," I mouthed as the warm glow of a healing spell coursed through me. I would have said it out loud, but Lydia had cleared her throat very loudly and it dawned on me that the guards had somehow managed to get close enough to eavesdrop on our conversation.

"Liar," he murmured. "Now, I am hungry and cold and since the door to your abode is locked, I suggest we return there for the night."

That was the best thing I had heard so far. It was only when we arrived there that I realised why that stellar idea was less than stellar. Lydia politely bade us good night and Meeko bounded up the stairs after her. I could hear the soft slide of a bolt being drawn across the bedroom door that had just been shut. So that meant that...

Grabbing the nearest bottle of ale, I sank into a seat before the hearthfire. Maybe if I ate enough and drank too much, I would fall asleep in this chair. That way, I could avoid sharing a bed with my husband.


	41. Chapter 41

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Alright, I am as sleep-deprived as ever because of a monster 6000 word chapter I just spent the entire day writing but whatever. I'm afraid this will have to be succinct, hard for long-winded me but yes, I will try, else the author's notes will exceed the story in length. IronStag: Thank you very much! The well-earned part means the most to me. :) Duesal10: You are always a sweetheart in reviews. I feel the same as you do about the factions in Skyrim. I always wish there had been another option apart from the Empire or the Stormcloaks. EoP: Of course Hearthfire will continue! I am not giving up on Daddy!Alduin. I just need some time and for the Muse to bite. AlianaKensington: Thank you so much! It's lovely to know you've found this story so enjoyable. Makes all the sweat and sleepless nights worth it. Vablatzky: I am so glad to hear from you! It's always a treat to hear from readers who have followed this story from two years ago and it's reassuring to know you're still reading and I'm still getting it right. And that picture is wonderful! I hope everyone who sees this looks for the link or googles Lady59 pixiv to check it out. Zute: *L* My only defense is that it came at a super high price. Don't worry, the Brotherhood aren't in dire straits. If they do make an appearance, you'll see them doing fine. Sevvyn: Two years I think it's been? But thank you so much. :) VirginiaGDM: Actually, I think there are some excellent fics out there more deserving of the title. But I thank you; it's a huge compliment. I totally understand what you meant about getting Shadowmere. But I found I missed him so much that for my third playthrough, I did the Dark Brotherhood quest again. DragonsDeadAndDancing: Oh dear, yes, you are right actually. I might go back and alter that chapter. Let me finish this entire tome first. Alduin with pink hair..hmm...might there be a Shout for that? HatakePuppy: No worries, I adore long reviews. I'm shameless like that. :) As for what happened in Valthume, it will come up but not any time soon. Just wait for it. _

**DRAGONREND **

**XLI.**

I pitched forward, grabbed unceremoniously for the armrest of the chair and managed to kick over the bottle of ale that I couldn't recall ever setting on the floor. "Bloody Void," I cursed unthinkingly, the oath sliding off my tongue as the honey-coloured glass caught the brilliance of the flame that I sent it skidding into. The fire leaped with a sharp crackle as the brew spilled from the mouth of the vessel and promptly died under the thick covering of frost I blanketed it with.

"Lydia is going to be pissed," I muttered to no one in particular. Come morning, there would be a soaked hearth waiting for her. Maybe I could bribe Brenuin or Sigurd into cleaning up the mess before Lydia found out about it. 'And maybe tomorrow dragons will publicly declare that they've renounced meat in favour of cheese,' I though gloomily. Even though the room had been plunged into relative darkness, alleviated only by two wall sconces which emanated a weak glow, Alduin's golden eyes shone with wicked amusement. I cringed inwardly, waiting for the axe to fall.

"Perhaps now you would be more amenable towards retiring to bed?"

That was not fair. I was sleep-addled, every muscle in my body was protesting at the thought of any movement, my mouth felt vaguely like I had been chewing on tundra cotton, and I was pissed at Alduin for sitting there and being the definition of tall, dark and snarky. And still he had the power to make me feel as though my smalls were about to go up in flames.

"Do close your mouth Freyja. You've spent enough time dozing with it open."

I gave him the most irate glower that I could summon. "You should close your mouth Alduin, before it earns you a sleeping spot beside the hearth or out on the street."

"Empty threats, Dovahkiin," he smiled, the corner of his mouth curling up ever so slightly. I was very glad that I was still seated down on the chair. That way, he couldn't see how weak my treacherous knees had suddenly become. "Now, about retiring for the night—"

"Dog," I blurted out. Yes, I was the Dragonborn, the Thane of two Holds, Listener and almost-Guildmaster and by the Nine, this was my home. Still, I couldn't see Alduin actually listening or taking kindly to the suggestion that I spend the night in my bed alone. I had a dusty rolled-up wolf pelt in the huge chest next to my bed but even that, I doubt it would prove a sturdy enough barrier to last the night.

_ "This is not over, Freyja."_

Well, that had been in Anise's basement. This was Breezehome. Things could be different. 'In a horker's eye,' I groaned inwardly. The pitiful truth was that Alduin wasn't so much of the problem as I was, or more specifically, the self-control that I strongly suspected would be lacking.

For once priceless moment, Alduin looked absolutely lost. "What? If you mean that drooling, four-legged fur pelt—"

"Hey!" The indignant pet owner in me surged to the forefront. "That's my dog and he has a name, Meeko. By the Nine, do you have to insult everything that's not a dragon?"

For one long moment, he looked at me and I glared at him. "Not everything," he finally said. "Obviously you hold this animal in high esteem. He does seem to be in possession of some intelligence, I will admit."

"Only because he kept quiet when you ordered him to," I muttered. Still, that was as much of an apology as I was going to get and it went some way to mollifying me.

"He knows what I truly am, just as your cursed black mount does."

I let the insult to Shadowmere slide. A Dragonborn had to know when to pick her battles. "As I was saying, you're more than welcome to the bed." By the time I returned, Alduin would be fast asleep. Maybe I could sleep right at the edge of the bed. Chances were though that I was going to end up sleeping on the floor that night. Perhaps that wolf pelt was going to be useful after all. "I need to go out."

"At this hour?" Alduin demanded, rising as I did. Rummaging around one of the cupboards, I found a sack of tomatoes and emptied that out onto a platter. Then, I stuffed it with three venison chops. Rooting around the barrel that Lydia kept cold with frost salts and ice wraith teeth yielded some raw rabbit haunches. "What in Aetherius are you doing?"

"Dog," I repeated, brandishing a pale pink haunch at him before chucking it into the sack. "I don't know what Ardwen used to feed him but some dogs prefer their meat raw. It's late, I'm exhausted and it's been two days since he's eaten. There are streams nearby but those are rife with mudcrabs. I have to bring him in by tonight."

"Who is Ardwen?"

I had forgotten that Alduin barely knew Whiterun. "She was," I hesitated slightly; it felt strange speaking about her like this. "She was a Bosmer priestess I met during my travels. I helped her fend off some bandits, she and her dog. They've been together since I've known her and he's been crying on the fields since they took her body in preparation for tonight's funeral. He won't let anyone touch him and he's going to die at this rate."

"And why would you care?"

It was a genuine question and to be fair, I knew a handful of people who, Dragon god of destruction or not, would have asked that as well. "Because I know something of lost creatures." I shrugged, tying the mouth of the sack into a loose knot. "Don't wait up for me."

"Freyja, the hour is ungodly, the walls are poorly manned because the guards are either bone-weary or injured, if they aren't already dead. And I return this evening to find Imperial soldiers stalking the streets and giving me glares that would do a member of the Blades proud. I am not about to let my wife go chasing after half-wild hounds alone without someone to watch her back."

My wife. I liked the sound of that too much. "You know, you don't have to call me that. There's no one else around now."

He cocked his head to the side and shot me a speculative glance. "But you are my wife." His eyes slid down to my finger and the thick gold band that sat on it. "No one, mortal or otherwise, is in a position to contest that..."

"But—"

"A Daedric Prince arranged the ceremony—"

"But you don't give a skeever's ass about the Daedra!"

"A priestess of Mara herself oversaw the taking of our vows." He looked reprovingly at me. "By all counts, it is a valid union."

"But—"

"I am beginning to sense a pattern here," Alduin drawled and I came that close to clobbering him with a sackful of meat.

"You don't want to be married to me," I hissed. "And that reason matters more than any of the rest that you've cited."

Silence greeted me, silence accompanied by an imperiously raised brow and a cool gaze that caused the first prickles of suspicion to start curling around the base of my spine. "What?" I asked defensively. "It's true, isn't it?"

"And since when did I say that?"

"When?" The floorboards above creaked slightly and for a moment, I feared I had awakened Lydia. Then came the soft shuffling of paws on wood as Meeko settled himself at another corner of the small room. "When?" I repeated in hushed, outraged tones. "In Anise's basement, that's when. You said you couldn't say no—"

"I must protest, I did not say that there was not a single possibility of saying no."

"You very strongly implied—"

"I merely raised the improbability of saying no to a Daedric Prince while trapped in this weakened form."

I started to open my mouth before clamping it shut. This was a bloody outrage, that's what it was. And since there was Alduin, there was the almost unreasonable desire to want to be right, if merely to deflate his massive ego.

It was also absolutely redundant to continue pursuing this argument. 'You are trying to win him over after all.' Denying the marriage was not going to help an iota with that. A slight shiver ran down my spine as I lowered my gaze, lingering for a moment too long on his hands and those long elegant fingers. Fingers that had weaved themselves in my hair, caressed my scalp, and touched me so that even without a Word, there was magic enough to set me on fire.

I'd tried once and it had been a near disaster. Now was not the time to try again, not in this exhausted state and without even the bare bones of a strategy as to how I was going to steal his heart and save the world in the process. "And all this in defence of the marriage vows of mortals that you said you don't believe in. Could it be that this is your peculiar way of expressing that you actually like being married to me?"

There could have been any number of things he could have said to me, any number of infuriating, cuttingly clever words that a near ageless god like him could have used. Instead, he went very quiet, perfectly still and in the silence I could hear the quick breath that he drew. Then, he walked to the door and for a moment I thought I had, somehow, perhaps gone too far.

"Actually," he paused, turning slightly with one hand on the handle of the door, "that was my way of saying that I like you."

As I said, there could have been any number of things he could have said to me. Instead, that conniving, rotten, world-eating god opted to tell me the truth. Then, he left and I was still standing there in the resonant silence with the beginnings of a broad smile that no amount of lip biting and self-berating could extinguish.

* * *

><p>"So, what did you do with the skull?"<p>

The question was not unexpected; it was the moment she had chosen to pose it that was. Alduin glanced at the woman next to him, saw the white gold streaks of her hair, so fair that they seemed to meld into the pale glow of her skin as the moons shone above them, so full and low in the sky that their incandescent rings seemed to crown the mountain peaks.

_ I like you._

The remembrance of his words echoed through his mind once more. He knew she recalled them as well, for she had not spoken much to him and the only time she had really met his gaze after that was when she issued her mute appeal to him to assist her in catching that senseless hound which refused to let either of them near it. Confession or no, there was a limit to what a god did for the woman who had taken his world, torn it apart and shaped it anew for him. The withering look he sent her was answer enough and Freyja had simply sighed before proceeding to stalk the dog for close to an hour across a wide field dotted with freshly dug mounds of earth over which stones had been laid. Finally, she had given up, choosing to lay the food out in the open and keep watch for wolves while the half-starved animal ate.

And now they sat side by side, so close they were almost touching, as they had in that foul cellar. It pleased him, almost absurdly, that she had not moved away or made another attempt to put distance between them. In time, she would come around, would come to him of her own volition. She had already begun to.

_I like you. _

It was, he decided, an adequate enough statement for either of them. As it was, it had felt extraordinarily strange hearing those words issue from his lips; it had made him unaccountably nervous, in spite of his confidence concerning the attraction that Freyja felt towards him. It was that feeling of vulnerability that had driven him out the door, as much as the knowledge that he had to give her space to digest his statement and all its implications.

"Alduin?"

His thoughts had wandered. Unsurprisingly, he thought wryly. It was Freyja after all. "I found his bones." A bright flicker of fresh rage coursed through him and once more, the desire to level the palace that humans had the gall to name Dragonsreach. "So I buried the skull with them." There had been no mound, no proper burial for the dragon. His remains had been left scattered across the land, bleached by the elements, a forlorn and too stark reminder of what had befallen his kind. The bones themselves had been far too heavy for him to move. In the end, he had settled for placing the skull at the site where most of those rested. It had taken every ounce of control not to summon Odahviing and lay waste to Whiterun himself.

"You did not raise him?" There was no catch in her voice and she was looking away, her gaze concentrated on the dog who was noisily tearing into the meat, the wet chomping of its jaws disturbing the otherwise silent night. All the same, he sensed her nervousness. Against two dragons and himself, she would not have a chance, perhaps not even if she learnt Dragonrend. Such a thought would have surely crossed her mind.

"It is enough that there is one dragon out there who knows of my plight. I have no wish for another to gain such knowledge." There was no need for her to know that Odahviing's resurrection had almost cost him his life. And now it was his turn to ask the questions. "Did it not bother you, to stand in the presence of that little man with one of our kind held as a trophy on his wall?"

"You're angry with me."

She sounded troubled enough to take the edge off his simmering fury. "I want to know why."

Freyja had started to worry her lip again. Several times she seemed as though she would speak, but there was only silence. Finally, she did. "Yes, it did bother me. There were times when it was all I could do to not to look at the skull and to focus on what Balgruuf was saying."

"You are Dov, Dragonkind. Surely—"

"I am not like you," she rounded on him, her braid whipping sharply to the side so that it slid over her shoulder. "I felt nothing but fear when I first saw you," she continued, the ire in her voice fading as she lowered it. Her fingers, once clasped loosely together, now resembled a tight knot. "Then there was Mirmulnir, and then Sahloknir. You told me yourself I wasn't worthy of the name of Dovah. And you were far from the only dragon to remind me of how different I am." She stopped, dropped her gaze before lifting it once more, blue eyes searching his. "Perhaps though I should have said that once, you were not like me."

Alduin felt his mouth thin into a hard line. "You hardly need to remind me of it, Dovahkiin."

"I don't mean it like that. I just... You know what it's like, how I've felt. If you could remember that I've been trying to find my place from the start..." Freyja broke off. Abruptly, she got to her feet, automatically dusting off her armour. She would not look at him. "The dog's done. We should go."

The animal was slinking off, taking a large stained bone, the only remnant of its meal, with it. Rising swiftly, he caught her hand before she escaped, locked his fingers over her wrist as he spun her around. "I know," he said quietly. "I know now what you meant." And like that, he felt her relax beneath his touch. "I would like you to remember some things too, Freyja."

He had no idea how the men of this world measured beauty. Dragons measured it by the golden glow of gold, the brightness with which it shone and the richness of that sheen. The brighter a gem sparked beneath the light, the purer its colour, the greater its value. These, he knew. These, he was familiar with.

None of these could be applied to the woman who stood before him. Yet she was still lovely. Like, Alduin realised with a rapidly sinking feeling in his chest, was in reality far from adequate.

"The first is what I spoke of tonight," he continued, sliding his fingers down so that he unfurled hers. "The second is that I am still Alduin. And when I am myself again, there are none amongst the Dov who would gainsay me."

He could feel her pulse, beating rapidly beneath his touch as their palms met, fingers sliding and twining together. It felt like the sun beneath his wings. "Do you understand what I am telling you?"

"You might not feel the same way when that happens."

She was afraid, his Dragonborn. "Some things will change. This," he brushed the tips of his fingers over the warm skin beneath them, "this remains. Trust me Freyja."

She could not have known then, or perhaps she was far too exhausted to stop the look of yearning that swept over her face, the way her eyes gave her away so that he saw into her heart. At that moment, she would not resist him. So with that knowledge, he leaned down and kissed her mouth softly.


	42. Chapter 42

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Oh my goodness, 6000 words in 12 hours. Look what getting the DVD of Thor: The Dark World did to me. And that was just watching Loki in featurettes! My Muse just lunged back into life with a bloody vengeance. I haven't even gotten to the movie itself. I need help. :P And since the chapter is done, here it is. _

_DragonsDeadAndDancing: Thanks for the wikia thread (highly disturbing and amusing) and for the shout-out! I loved the little High Hrothgar extract you wrote; made me giggle. MerindaKalene: Thanks for recommending Dragonrend! I know this should have been in the previous chapter's A/N but I missed it out somehow. I hope you enjoyed chapter 41 and this one as well. Ny'Kle: Yes, it is exactly as you thought it happened. That's essentially what he was telling her if she promised herself to him in return. TheOneWhoReadsTooMuch: Alduin's got it all covered, at least that's what he thinks. Just wait for it. I promise it's coming. Pint-Sized-She-Bear: I feel you! Look at me, hopelessly addicted to Loki. Julie5: Thanks! I was so hoping it would be perceived that way and I'm glad it worked, mostly. Wispadori: I know, it felt short to me too. But I'm compensating with this one so I hope it makes up for the previous chapter. gallifreycallsnow: Thank you! I ate up your review. As for what's to come, I really can't give it away because that would massively spoil the story. Everything important is happening at HH though; that's what this story has been building up to. MissSouthernBelle: Consider this a present and my only way to ease the stress of a long hard week. I hope you are okay! EvoKov: And they do keep coming! At least this chapter. I need to rest and refuel for the next one. Thor movies, here I come! *L* Laluzi: Thank you, thank you and thank you. It means a great deal to know I've improved as a writer. ChristineFury: Yup, you've absolutely summed up how I feel about their progress and that declaration. As for once they get to High Hrothgar, just hang on for the ride there. _

**DRAGONREND **

**XLII.**

The last thing he wanted to do was stop. Here was that which he wanted most in the world, save for the world itself. She sighed against his lips; he could feel the way she clung to his hand as though he were the only thing in this dark starry night that would anchor her. When he began to draw back, to his eternal delight, she followed, raised herself up on her toes to keep his mouth against hers until the very last moment. All the tempests in Nirn would do little to quench the silent surge of heat that roiled between them, that drew the blood so close to her skin that it flushed her cheeks and lips.

He could have given a kingdom to take her, at that moment. Instead, he dipped his head swiftly again, pressed the side of his face to hers, arching his neck, pushing against her as she instinctively pushed back, sliding the warmth of their flesh together. Oh yes, he thought, inhaling her scent deeply as the wind spun the soft tendrils of her hair over his face. Had they both been in the bodies their souls were meant for, this is how they would have begun that oldest of dances. "Remember, Freyja. Know what I am offering you," he murmured into her ear, resisting the urge to skim his mouth down her neck, to use his teeth to mark her afresh as his.

Her eyes were so wide, so opened. Unguarded. "How—"

"It can be," he interrupted. "In this I tell aught but the truth. All I need is your word."

"My word?" she said, sounding slightly breathless and more than a little apprehensive.

He brought the full force of his gaze to bear on hers, willed her by the magic that only dragon eyes possessed to yield to him. In more ancient times, in days gone by which time had lost count of, the Nords who had fought against their dragon lords learnt not to look full upon the stare of one. There had been tales, some had spread so far and wide as to become legend, of men and elves and beast folk brought to a halt by the enchantment of a dragon stare. Some stories told of weapons halted in mid-swing, of enemies who stood rooted to the ground, fixated and lost in a dream while the ground turned to fire and snow beneath their feet. One even spoke of a king, proud and strong who rebelled against the winged gods. He had spent the rest of his long life in chains, enthralled, serving a great dragon's every whim until he was old and grey and the spell was lifted so that he could see what a waste of years had passed him by. That one, Alduin knew to be true. For he had been that dragon.

"Tell me aye." He knew that his voice, at that moment, was the only sound she could hear. Everything else had faded into nothingness. "Say yes and I will make it so."

She swayed; he pulled her closer, slipped their clasped hands behind the small of her back. Freyja turned her head slightly, first to the left, then the right. But she could not take her eyes from his. He watched the curve of her throat as she swallowed hard, the growing heaviness of her lids as she struggled against a hold that far exceeded the light touch that kept her upright.

The last thing he wanted to do was stop. But if she was to be his, he would have to restrain himself. For this time only, Alduin consoled himself as he blinked and broke the spell. "I will wait for your answer."

For some, it took days before the complete effects of the magic faded. For those who were stronger, it was a matter of hours. But dragons were different and this one, all the more so. It took a mere moment or two for the light of returning clarity to come flooding back, for awareness to draw her up, taut and wary. The deep breath she inhaled was akin to the kind that a drowning creature made as it broke the surface of the water.

Confusion knit her brows together; suspicion made her turn away, sent her eyes searching through their surroundings as though the silent fields turned burial grounds would offer an answer. She shook her head slightly, as though to remove the lingering remains of his spell. Then she stopped and looked up at him. "Did I hear you rightly? You said you would wait."

"Indeed. It is not exactly my preference, although it is well within my ability to be patient if needs be."

"I'd like to see the day you show some humility. If needs be," she added, mimicking him.

"That would very much depend," he lowered his voice and looked at her through his lashes, knowing full well the effect it had on her, "on the kind of incentive you would be willing to offer."

If desire had been light, they would have been incandescent. When she looked at his mouth he felt it like a touch. "I'll..." Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You have a lot to think about this night, it seems," he teased before growing serious. "But first, you have to sleep. You look terrible."

* * *

><p>He was possibly the most vexing man I had ever met. Once upon a time, that title had belonged to Brynjolf, with his dancing green eyes, his kind smile, his sharp intelligence and his baffling refusal to act on the feelings between us.<p>

I gave Alduin the dirtiest glare I could summon. He simply looked bemused. "Come on then. Let's go home." It was another slip of the tongue, and I was glad that I had already turned to walk back to the city, that all he could see was the back of my head and person, and not the nervous surprise that took several moments to smooth away. He was right, I needed sleep and in the darkness of the room, it would be safe to sift through all that had occurred, at least before my exhaustion claimed me.

Could Whiterun ever be home to the god of Destruction? I knew the answer even as we approached its walls. Bright lights shone down as we drew closer; the guards were wary and rightly so. "It's the Thane," one of them called out and several readied bows lowered immediately. Behind me, I felt the warmth of the breath Alduin released; the hand that he placed on my waist dropped away, possibly before anyone had seen it. To the guards, we were husband and wife, and there was nothing shameful in a public display of affection. But what we had was not for anyone's eyes. To me, it was both wonderful and terrifying, so new it felt almost raw. It was the kind of secret you hugged to your chest and wrapped in silence, because somehow you knew that once others knew, it would be ruined. And if there was ever a secret that had to be kept...

I stole a sideways glance at the tall man who walked beside me. He was beautiful, simply put. And quite a fine actor as well, once he had realised how to manipulate the human body and face I had given him. Beneath that impassive mask, I could see the distaste emanating from him as the dark, imposing shape of Dragonsreach loomed over us once we gained the main entrance of the city. No, this could never be his home. Not a house in a city built by a race he once ruled, not even any of the palaces I had ever been in. I had seen Bromjunaar with my own eyes and it dwarfed anything I had even known. That was what Alduin was made for, what he had made for himself and the dragons who hailed him as lord.

And he was offering that to me. The keys rattled slightly more than usual as I withdrew the chain from my pouch and picked out the one to Breezehome. So that was what he had in mind; that explained the change I had noticed in Anise's cellar. The door opened and there was a distinct crack as my boot stepped on something. Frowning, I bent, touched the space I had been standing on a moment ago and when I straightened up, I held a slender piece of metal in my hand.

"What is that?" Alduin plucked it from my suddenly nerveless fingers.

"Broken lockpick. _Laas_." Out of the darkness, Lydia and Meeko's warm sleeping bodies pulsed red with life as the Word swept through the house. There was no one else, save for the Khajits whose glimmering forms showed up in the distance. "It's okay." I slid my half-drawn blade back into its sheath. "There's no one else in the house. This is possibly the best lock in Skyrim. And the one man who could possibly pick it is dead." Mercer's corpse was probably still floating in several hundred feet of water and the Skeleton Key was still safe in Nocturnal's hands. Were neither of those the case, the Prince herself would have made contact with me or sent someone from the Guild to fetch me. "It's probably just a one-off attempt by a thief who doesn't know better. Definitely not from the Guild." While not everyone who dwelt in the Cistern knew of my title, any of them would have seen the miniscule but clear Shadowmarks I had carefully scratched into the doorposts.

I drew the bolt behind us once the door was closed. In the darkness, I could see the layer of frost on the hearth had shrunk. Tomorrow, there would be a puddle of water lying inside. If only there was some spell to transmute water into air, I thought, stifling a yawn as I walked up the stairs, all too aware of Alduin's presence that followed behind. He almost bumped into me when I stopped short several feet from the bedroom. Even from here, the flickering glow of the dancing gem cast itself over the floor.

"What manner of jewel is that?" Alduin brushed past me, strode right into the bedroom and practically snatched it off the dresser. "It is a most unusual gem. And this casing is pure gold."

For the second time that night, my voice failed me. 'Oblivion and damnation, Freyja. Get your act together,' I raged silently at myself. "It's a Stone of Barenziah, one from a set of twenty-four that Barenziah—she was a Queen—lost to a clever thief."

Alduin peered at the gem, holding it up and so closely that its warm glow bathed his black hair and turned it an iridescent shade of reddish purple, like raven feathers under bright sunlight. His eyes shone. So that was how a dragon looked when it held treasure. No wonder Brynjolf used to tease me about it. Any description short of rapt would be an understatement.

"Do you have any more of these?" He caught the gem between his fingers, turned his hand up so that it rested snugly in his palm. When he placed it on the satin bedding, it stayed a moment before floating up and resumed its gentle bobbing in mid-air. "There is some strange magic here. Very old spells that were used to grow the stone from whence this one came."

Vex had not told me everything. That had become gradually clear each time I returned to the Ragged Flagon to report that I had yet another gem to place in the Guild treasury. She had the coolest, most impassive demeanour I had ever seen, Astrid being the sole exception, but even she couldn't quite disguise her growing excitement as the number of gems piled up. By the time I had left the Guild, there had been twenty Stones safe behind those double-locked doors. What Alduin held was one of two that I had picked up along the way while finishing jobs for the Brotherhood. After the Empire had sacked the Falkreath Sanctuary, I moved everything of value I had accumulated back to Breezehome. Lydia had never seen me; I'd been too ashamed to let her know about the Family I had fallen in with. And since I had still been hunting the Emperor himself, the less she saw of me, the safer she would be.

"I have one more inside that chest." A chest that had been secured with the best master lock money could purchase, a chest that ought to have been holding both Stones instead of one. "Do you know what those gems can do? I know they are valuable and it's quite clear they are magical. But there's no one and no book that can tell me more."

"Without all it more difficult to say for certain. Yet..." Carefully, he placed the casing down on the dresser and gently pushed the lid down until it was almost shut, leaving just enough light to prevent the room from being plunged into inky blackness. "There is some kind of transmutation spell at work. That gem is but part of a whole key. I suspect it is meant to increase wealth."

It was hard not to be impressed. "You got that just by looking at it?"

He was positively preening. "Naturally." And then his hands went to the buckles and ties of his armour. "Oh do wipe that mortified look off your face Freyja. I have no intention of doing anything but getting some rest in this bed. Wearing this wretched contraption would ruin even the prospect of that."

That was mostly a relief and a slight disappointment to the more insensible part of me. "You're not going to take off all your clothes are you?" I asked sharply.

"Since I am not going to ravish you senseless, I fail to see what difference any state of undress on my part would make."

"Alduin..."

He continued to shed his armour without even looking at me.

"Fine, you sleep here. I'm going back down—"

He cut me off with a loud sigh that was punctuated by the sound of his boots hitting the floor as he shucked them off. "Woman, take off your armour and get into that bed."

"You know, I'm getting one or two ideas about where exactly I can put my sword."

"You can try, but I guarantee you'll have little success. I will keep the clothes on, since you are being so stubborn about it. Now stop arguing and let me have some peace and quiet—"

The leather hood caught him full in the face and he sputtered, ripping it off. "You deserve that," I chuckled smugly, circling past the foot of the bed so that I ended up safely on the other side. "Maybe you should take your own advice and keep quiet."

The hood came sailing back my way but it was less than child's play to catch it in midflight. Feeling slightly self-conscious, I reached for the buckles that kept my armour in place, not quite wanting to turn my back fully on Alduin. When I was done, I put the lot on the larger table at the end of the room. My sword I placed on the floor just beneath my bed. It was something I had always done, a mute remnant of my past and a move that had saved my life several times.

It was warm beneath the furs, and the straw-feather bedding felt glorious against my aching body, as did the feather-stuffed pillows I paid good money for. Shifting around until I found a comfortable position, I closed my eyes and waited for sleep. Next to me, Alduin had turned on his side and by the sound of his breathing, I could tell that sleep would claim him first. Long minutes crawled by until I was sure they had turned into at least an hour, and I still remained fairly awake for two good reasons.

The first was currently sound asleep beside me and if the short time spent in this bed was any measure to go by, Alduin the World-Eater was also turning out to be a very good blanket stealer. So far, he had managed to get most of the furs away from me. "All I need is your word," he had said. But he wouldn't tell me what would happen if I did pledge myself to him. He had to know that I would never let dragons rule Skyrim, that as long as they harmed the people I would stand against them. I could not let him destroy this world either. So why offer me a place at his side? How was it all to work out? And when he returned to his divine form, I would still be an immortal soul trapped in mortal flesh. I might not have been the most experienced of women but anyone with a pair of working eyes could see that the bodies of dragons and humans were not meant for each other. But for a moment, there on the fields, he had looked into my eyes and something strange had come over me. Fascination was the only way I could describe it; his eyes had been almost hypnotic and even now I recalled the moment more by sensation, the way his voice swelled my ears, the slow echo of my heart, the way his presence filled my senses until I was close to forgetting who I was and what it was I had been resisting. All the world and the worlds before and after it were him. There had been some kind of enchantment at work and that in itself was immensely troubling. Alduin had promised to wait for my answer but he was a god who was very used to getting his way as well.

As for the second reason, it had everything to do with that gem that ought to have been in the chest and the broken lockpick which had not signified a single unsuccessful attempt, as I had originally assumed. What it really meant was that a thief had tried once, failed, tried again and succeeded. I had been wrong twice. My second error lay in my estimation of Mercer being the only man capable of picking that lock that had been built according to the specifications in that unimaginatively entitled tome, "Proper Lock Design and Construction". There was one other man, and he had been in my home while I was gone. Knowing him, that was no coincidence, which meant he had seen Alduin and I together. He had also probably zeroed in on the painfully obvious ring that I was wearing.

Brynjolf was in town and he wanted me to know he was back in my life. And I had no idea what to say or where to begin. Most troubling of all, I didn't know why he would suddenly choose to do this after months of silence between us. But when he did, Alduin would not take kindly to him and all Oblivion would probably break loose when those two met each other.

* * *

><p>Alduin woke to the very pleasant sensation of Freyja pressed up tightly against his side. In fact, she was practically half on top of him, with one leg curled over his thighs and dangerously close to another part of his anatomy that he learned, quite a while ago, had a mind of its own when it came to the Dragonborn. She was also, he realised as he shifted as stealthily as he could so that he managed to wrap both arms around her, tucking her head beneath his chin, very cold. Reaching over to his other side, he snagged the edge of a fur with his fingertips and drew it over both of them. Through it all, Freyja slept like the dead, even when he found a section of her waist where her shirt had ridden up and proceeded to run his fingers lightly over the spot. It made the morning that much better and worse at the same time. Breathing in deeply, Alduin brushed his lips against the golden tangle of her hair, clenched his jaw momentarily as the ache down below grew steadily worse, and issued a silent and futile order to this unruly body to contain itself.<p>

Seconds later, she stirred and Alduin almost bit through his lip when she burrowed further against him, nuzzling deeper against his neck as cold palms sought the heat of his flesh beneath his shirt. By the time she was done, Freyja was indeed sprawled out on top of him, her hips pressed to his with her arms and legs respectively plastered against the bare skin of his sides and his thighs. Two layers of thin clothing formed a miserable excuse of a barrier. There might as well not be anything between them. It was a small mercy that she had fallen completely still again because if she moved, Alduin genuinely felt that he might spill his seed. The sound of his quick shallow breathing seemed to fill the room and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to conjure up the most unpleasant thoughts he could conceive of.

Then Freyja muttered something that brought the pulsing ache which possessed his body to a grinding halt. "Brynjolf..." she mumbled. "Bryn, please."

She might as well have poured snow from the pinnacle of the Monahven itself into his veins. Shoving her off him was a purely instinctive reaction, as was the scalding jealousy that was swallowing him whole as he rolled off the bed.

"Alduin? What—"

He stared furiously at the bewildered, sleepy woman who was busy shoving hair out of her face. If he could have, he would have taken a sword to everything in the room, if only to spend his anger and avoid hurting her. Nothing good could come of staying a moment more in her presence. He left the room, slamming the door in his wake. It was only when he reached the bottom step of the stairs that he realised he was not alone. Lydia and a stranger were standing at the hearth that now held a greyish pool thick with ash and wet coal.

"If this is a bad time..." The rather doleful looking youth gestured nervously before running a hand over his close-cropped brown hair, eyes darting back and forth between Lydia, Alduin and Meeko who had fled to hide himself behind the housecarl.

"If you're looking for the washroom, it's directly behind you," Lydia calmly said. "I took the liberty of moving your pack over to the table there. Just in case you need anything..."

Wordlessly, he went over, grabbed the pack that he had retrieved whilst out in the wilds and then stepped into the room Lydia had pointed out. When the door was bolted shut, Alduin leaned against it, dropping his baggage to the floor which was surprising cold beneath his bare feet. Stone. It was a stone floor. Outside, he heard the sounds of Lydia and the stranger moving, followed by the clattering of Meeko's paws against the wood. There was the sound of a door being opened and closed. Apparently Lydia knew a brewing fight when she saw one and had the discretion to give them some privacy.

The room was bigger than it looked from the outside. In the far corner was a partition, probably for the privy. The other end held three large barrels of water which to his surprise, were warm. Wide shelves built into the wall held an array of cloths, a small bucket, and a generous stack of soap. Alduin dumped his pack atop one of the empty shelves and was about to shed his clothes in favour of a warm bath when the door to the washroom fairly shook with the force of the knock that landed on it.

"Alduin, you come out here right now!"

Freyja's angry voice was slightly muffled through the thick wood but he heard her well enough. He chose to ignore her.

"This is your last chance. Open this door at once."

The bolt that held the door shut was made of thick steel, plus there was no lock to pick. Unless she intended to Shout the door down, which he seriously doubted she would, there was no way she could force her way in. "Go away Freyja," he growled.

"_BEX!"_

The bolt slid out of place with a force that almost ripped it from the wall. When the door flung itself open, it would have clipped him if he had not stepped back the moment he heard the Thu'um.

"Who taught you that?" he demanded. The fact that she knew Words which had not been carved into the walls was not lost on him. For a person who claimed to be wholly ignorant of Dragon Tongue, she was turning out not to be as unenlightened as she had made herself out to be.

"The Greybeards," she replied scathingly, making it clear that she taught it was a stupid question. "What exactly is wrong with you this morning? You almost push me off the bed and then you look at me as though you want to put my eyes out, and now Lydia knows we're fighting. Again." She folded her arms angrily over her chest, stepped into the room, into his space.

"Are you in love with Brynjolf?"

He knew the answer before she gave it to him. It was written in every line of her face, in the way she moved and held herself.

No.

"With Bryn? Of course not."

Sweet relief rushed through him. "Then why were you calling his name in your sleep?"

She flushed, pressed a hand to her forehead and muttered, "Sweet gods. So this is what nearly kicking me out of bed is about. You're jealous."

Pride warred with logic. He wanted to deny it but to do so would make him look like a fool. "That is not an answer," he said with as much cool aloofness he could muster.

"I called his name because I was dreaming of him."

The wench had the temerity to smile as his attempt at being impassive collapsed into a massive scowl.

"I was dreaming of him and you beating each other to a pulp before an altar of Mara. And there was someone screaming in the distance. Screaming or laughing, sometimes I could hear both. Mostly though, it was me shouting at the two of you to stop." Freyja laughed softly, shaking her head. "How ridiculous does that sound?"

Truth was sometimes stranger than fiction; that was something he had learned ages ago. In this case, it sounded chillingly close to the truth. Alduin tried not to let the mild horror he was experiencing show on his face. Somehow, she had retained memories of the Misty Grove debacle with Sanguine. If Freyja ever found out he had omitted Brynjolf's part in it, or that he had been given a choice to step aside and let that red-haired quim marry her... He would have a very unhappy Dragonborn on his hands.

"Fairly ridiculous. I have never even met the man," he lied smoothly.

"True," she conceded. "But you're not what most people would describe as friendly."

"Most people are fools."

"See, that is exactly what I'm talking about. As for Brynjolf, he has always been quite protective of me. He once heard Nir—someone make me an indecent proposal of sorts. The guy couldn't sit down for days because Bryn literally kicked his ass. That sort of ruined me for every other thief in the Guild. After that I was 'Bryn's girl', that's what they called me behind my back."

"If you ever return, I insist that you disabuse them of that notion. Better yet, let me. I think I will start with that indecent individual you mentioned."

Freyja snorted. "No thank you. They are a good bunch in spite of themselves and they don't deserve you, your bad temper and your penchant for jumping to conclusions," she finished, deliberately emphasising the last three words.

She wanted an apology. The notion was so preposterous it made him feel ill simply to entertain it. He was Alduin; he apologised to no one, not even Akatosh when the latter had summoned his Firstborn to Aetherius only to spend a small age berating him in private and before the presence of the other Divines. Small wonder why he chose to avoid seeing his father.

"There's more chance of you and Shadowmere sitting down together for a friendly meal than there is a chance that you'll say you're sorry, right?"

"Without a doubt." It bothered him to see her look disappointed, but not enough to wrench words he had never said before from him.

She sighed softly before putting a hand on the door, preparing to draw it shut. "Don't use up all the warm water. I need to have a bath too."

In the end, she had two barrels of water and he finished in a much shorter time than he had originally intended. Alduin had just donned the last piece of his armour when she came into the room, wearing her damp hair loose about her shoulders and smelling of the same mildly scented soap he had used. "Is that all you will defend yourself with?" he asked when all she did was pick up her sword and strap the belt around her waist.

"Adrienne said she would be done repairing my armour by this morning. I'm going to collect it, then go to Jorrvaskr to meet with the Companions. Balgruuf wants to know more about how the Stormcloaks got in." As she pulled her boots on, she looked at him swiftly before turning back to the task at hand. "You don't have to come along. Surely there are places in the city that you would like to explore."

"Surely you jest," he said flatly. "Every Imperial soldier in this city would be paid his weight in gold if he could take either you or I unseen by the Whiterun guards."

"I could ask Irileth—that's the Dark Elf you helped—for an escort for each of us."

"You could." He sat down beside her on the bed, the side of his knee touching hers. "But you will not, for you know how severely taxed the city guards are now that their numbers are almost a third less than they were. Who is it that you do not want me to meet?"

A pack of potentially hostile wolves. Vilkas would most definitely be livid. Farkas was the mildest of the bunch. As for Aela, who could tell? Sinding was alive and well, that much I managed to uncover. But the rest of the Companions might well consider me a traitor for not coming to their aid at their greatest moment of crisis. "The Companions are some of the finest fighters I have ever seen. I made their ranks, but left soon after... Not all of them knew why. Do you remember the Silver Hand?"

He remembered her fighting for her life in the mud beneath the pouring rain. "It is likely I will never forget. What of them?"

"They hunt werewolves, you saw what they did to Sinding."

Understanding dawned. "You said there were those with beast blood in the midst of the Companions."

"The Silver Hand came together with the Stormcloaks, using a passageway known only to those with the blood. They killed Kodlak Whitemane." Her fingers tugged at a strap on her boot, her eyes were distant. "He was the leader of the Companions, the Harbinger. The last time I saw him, he asked me to stay but I didn't listen."

So that explained the terrible howls that had made his hair stand on end even in the midst of the bloody chaos of war. It was why Freyja had paused beneath the burning tree. "All the more reason why you must not go alone." There was no point in lying to her about this; of course they would blame her, at least some of them.

"Promise me that whatever happens, you will not provoke any fights or take up any challenges thrown down."

"Freyja—"

"Promise me," she demanded, her eyes bright and fierce. She seized his hand and he could feel the strength in her grip through the thick gauntlet. "If you want to be there, this is how I need you to watch my back."

As if she could have stopped him from going with her. "This will not apply if they do anything that can truly harm you. But until then, you have my word. I will do as you ask."

Her shoulders sagged, relief deflating the tension that had held them rigid. "Thank you."

She thought she was keeping him safe. Since it reassured her and made the task at hand somewhat more bearable, he would let her believe that. "We are dragons," he said quietly. "We stay together, especially in the midst of wolves."

Lifting a hand, he brushed loose curls from her face. He might have kissed her again, but for the loud and frantic knocking on the front door that caused them both to pull back. "My Thane! Are you within?"

The moment broken, there was little else to do but hurry below and see who it was. The sight of a sweating, nervous city guard greeted them. "What's the matter?"

"My Thane," the man stopped, stared at Alduin with something akin to wonderment. Naturally, everyone had to gawk at the one they had named "Dragon rider".

"Carry on," Alduin snapped.

"Right. My Thane..."

He didn't have to look to know that Freyja had rolled her eyes as well.

"Lydia has been arrested."

"What in the name of Mara do you mean?" she burst out. "Whatever for?"

"Public brawling in the streets, my Thane. She and that Companion, Vilkas. It took more than six guards to pull them apart—"

Freyja groaned audibly.

"And even then the Imperial soldiers had to lend a hand before they were finally subdued. Gave him a big bold black eye, our Lydia did, and then some. Plus she didn't harm a hair on our heads, although it might be awhile before Bjolan and Ulfarr stop being sore because she disarmed them quicker than a man up a whor— I mean, she was real quick, too fast to stop," the guard ended sheepishly.

"I suppose they're both being held in the dungeons until they cool off."

"Well, that and until someone pays the fine for them."

The look Freyja shot him was one of grim resignation. "Very well, you go ahead and tell the Captain that I'm bailing both of them out. I'll be along shortly."

Leaving him in the doorway, she stomped back up the stairs, muttering under her breath about terrible mornings and bad days and Dragonborns not having any rest. Alduin did not say anything, since in this case, it was fast shaping up into the truth.


	43. Chapter 43

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hey everyone, this story is back! I'll freely admit it's more of a filler chapter, a kind of calm before the storm moment. For everyone who suffered any anxiety about whether I'd abandoned this story, I would like to repeat that come what may, I'll see this story through to the end. There were many things that happened in real life which just savaged my writing wings and it took awhile to get the Muse in gear. To everyone who reviewed, I thank you from my heart. A special thanks goes out to SilentStorm and applefanfic whose reviews helped tipped the scales and kept me going. As grateful as I am to people who do favourite this story, I would like to add that a review would be even more welcome. There's no money made from this and giving the author feedback, regardless of the number of reviews already given, sometimes makes all the difference. I hope you all enjoy this. :)_

**DRAGONREND **

**XLIII.**

Upstairs, Freyja was making just enough of a ruckus for him to hear the audible sounds of someone stomping about and the violent crash of what he rightfully guessed to be a chest lid against the wall of the room above. He also heard the muffled soft clinks of fat gold septims; he could just imagine his wife in a fit of pique as she angrily shovelled coin into a fat purse to pay Lydia's bail. Well, Lydia and that other one, the man she had beaten up, Alduin though absently as he eyed the Imperial soldiers that had begun gathering across the narrow street from Breezehome. It would have been absurd and insulting to consider otherwise, since Lydia was Freyja's servant. She must have given at least a decent accounting of herself even though he was disappointed by the fact that she had allowed herself to be arrested.

While the sound of his wife's angry mutterings and cursing faded in and out of his hearing somewhere in the background—for there was no dragon that ever lived which enjoyed giving away good gold for a poor cause—Alduin reached out and pulled the door closer towards him. That way, the impudent mortals who were wearing more boiled leather than chainmail could no longer look into the hallway or shuffle around, craning their necks for a glimpse of his wife. Freyja had sufficient confidence that the Legates, anxious to win over her Jarl now that the Stormcloak bastard had attempted to lay waste to Whiterun, would not risk an open attack on her. It was a fairly sensible conclusion to draw. He however, had neither reigned nor lived so long by taking chances, and so he would do whatever he could to keep the Dragonborn whole and in one piece.

With lazy grace and a sharp smile that made his golden eyes gleam like a knife's edge when it caught the light, Alduin dropped his hand to the black hilt of the Nightingale blade and watched as a visible jolt of alarm ran through the soldiers. He could smell the tension, hear myriads of thick iron rings brush against each other as those who wore them jumped. Some soldiers reached for their own swords and behind those faceless helms, Alduin was willing to bet their lips were white. A bloodless lot these, he sniffed silently. But they found strength in numbers and bore watching all the same. And since he had to suffer keeping an eye on them, he would amuse himself, if he could, at their expense.

Then, he caught a familiar scent, or more like the ghost of a scent on the light morning breeze. Beneath the layers of light smoke, fresh and bloody meat, the sweat of the populace, and the sweetness of that enormous flowering white tree was one particular stench that hardened his face and wiped away any remaining traces of light-heartedness. It was all he could do not to snarl when the red-headed thief stepped out from behind the house on the low hill opposite Breezehome. Dancing green eyes met his and the quim had the gall to issue a mocking salute before slipping away. At that moment, Alduin realised the door behind him was sliding back. Freyja was here.

"Well, this is going to be an utter waste of—" She never finished her sentence because he wrapped an arm about her waist, pinned her against his body such that her face was practically smothered against his shoulder, and propelled her into the armourer's shop, which thankfully was mere feet away. In the process, he had practically lifted her off her feet.

"They had bows and arrows," he calmly explained to his visibly shocked wife once they were safe within the confines of an enclosed space, as though her widened eyes and slightly opened mouth were reactions that were entirely unwarranted. "And you are wearing no armour at the moment."

"But... Even then..." she sputtered. "I didn't even get to lock the door!" She wriggled slightly, trying to make him let go. He merely tightened his grip. That had been too much too close for comfort; Alduin still vividly recalled the moment when Freyja had hurled herself into Brynjolf's arms. He would sooner be damned then let it happen twice.

"Good. Then I will have an excuse to legitimately annihilate any intruder we find in our house." Actually, he had a certain red-haired thief in mind but it would have been hard to butcher Brynjolf in Freyja's presence, if only because his wife was certain to interfere. "And you may inform your Jarl that the Imperial soldiers are nothing more than thieves and thugs that deserve to be booted from your city."

"Whiterun is not my city. It belongs to Balgruuf," Freyja grimaced, her eyes darting to the side where they were being watched with unabashed interest by people whom Alduin assumed were the proprietors. "And I would appreciate it if firstly, you don't place thieves and thugs in the same category and secondly, you let me go now. I doubt Imperials possess arrows and bows that can penetrate these walls."

"And not a word of thanks from you." Alduin murmured, dipping his head lower so that he spoke directly in her ear. "Ungrateful wench." He felt her tense in his arms, saw the rosy flush that crept up her cheeks and the curve of her neck as she swallowed. Pleased with her response, he slid his arm from her waist, subtly running his fingers over the small of her back. "Go get your armour. I will wait outside." And if he managed to spot that red-headed thief once more, even the pantheon of the Nine themselves would not be able to save that one's skin.

* * *

><p>If it had been any other man, I would have reared my head back and bashed my forehead into his nose. "Crude, but effective," Vex had instructed. "I did it to Delvin once when he was too deep in his cups and too grabby with his hands."<p>

"At least he still has hands."

"What good is a thief with no hands?" Vex smiled rakishly. "We are a Guild and every member is family and an investment of sorts."

Or, even though my hands were pinned against his chest and there was no way I could effectively push him away since he was stronger than me, alarmingly so, I could free my arm by sliding it upward and after that, I would have a choice of either going for the eyes or the apple of the throat.

But I could do none of those, because this was Alduin. Neither did I want to make a scene even though he seemed intent on doing so, or at least making it very clear even without a verbal introduction that he was my husband, just in case anyone had missed the sight of him on the gigantic red dragon while they burned Ulfric's army to little more than ash.

It was bloody embarrassing though. "Whiterun is not my city. It belongs to Balgruuf," I corrected through gritted teeth while trying not to feel the force of Adrianne and Ulfberth's gazes on me. Public displays of affection were for others, not for me and up until now, I had thought that the case for Alduin too. Standing in the middle of Warmaiden's plastered against my husband was not acceptable. "And I would appreciate it if firstly, you don't place thieves and thugs in the same category and secondly, you let me go now. I doubt those soldiers possess arrows and bows that can penetrate these walls." Naturally, when speaking in favour of thieves, it made sense to lower my voice to a fraction above a murmur. It also helped to save face and prevent gossip when one was arguing with one's significant other in public.

Unfortunately, he responded in kind, lowering his face closer to mine. "And not a word of thanks from you." The warmth of his breath skimmed my ear and my knees nearly buckled. It came so close to something else I had dreamt of the night before, except that Alduin had kissed my ears before he had moved down my neck, biting and licking a hot wet trail until he reached my br—'Stop!' With more effort than I cared to acknowledge, I forcibly wrenched my mind back from the memory of that lusty dream. Unfortunately, my face had already turned red.

"Ungrateful wench," he teased, golden eyes glinting with humour and I just stood there dumbly, thinking that yes, now that he had mentioned it, 'wench' was quite a good description of my own behaviour in the aforementioned dream. Some of the things I had done...well, I'd read about them, one bored night while hiding out in a cave, from a book on Dibellan arts that Tonilia had asked me to steal for her. After that, it had taken awhile before I could look at either our resident fence or Vekel straight in the face without picturing them in any of the positions that had been drawn out in great and loving detail by the author, who had been a Sybil of Dibella's. When he ran his hand lightly over my waist as he stepped back, it was like fire down my spine. Clearly, I had debauched myself somehow by reading that book; I knew I should have stopped but it had been too horrifyingly juicy to put down. Now I was paying the price.

"Go get your armour. I will wait outside."

I couldn't have made a single sarcastic remark about bows and arrows if my life had depended on it. And because only half—and I was being particularly charitable to myself at that moment—of my brain was not suddenly seized with the urge telling me to re-enact last night's dream _now_, I turned around and did exactly as he directed. At least it put some space between Alduin and myself. I doubted Adrianne or Ulfberth would have appreciated what I had in mind and with Warmaiden's being a weapons shop after all, there were far too many options at hand for them to use should they decide to chase us from the premises. That would probably end with Alduin and I joining Lydia and Vilkas in the dungeon of Dragonsreach.

'Get a grip, Freyja.' It was an internal litany I chanted over and over even as something inside objected fiercely to the sound of the closed door, signalling Alduin's absence. 'Or not,' I reminded myself, taking a deep breath and steadying my legs, fighting to keep my expression neutral. 'He's just outside, not far away at all.' In fact, all it would take was less than five steps and I could wrap my hands around the intricate armoured grooves on his chest piece and yank him down on the floor—

"Married life suiting you well, Dragonborn?"

My head snapped up; I blinked rapidly, hoping my eyes weren't as glazed with lust as I feared they were. This was bad, even worse than anything I had ever experienced with Bryn. At least with him, my mind was still able to rein in my desires. But now, I could feel it burning in my bones, a flash flood barely stymied and only because of the presence of others and my own tenuous grip on myself. "Well enough," I replied, wincing inwardly at the slight rasp in my voice. Ulfberth was not exactly smirking but that thick black beard twitched and the twinkle in his eye grew brighter. "I do apologise for..." I gestured weakly in the direction of the door, trying not to focus on the fact that it was all that stood between Alduin and me. "He's spent too much time alone with the Greybeards. Life off the mountain is very much different from what he knows and he doesn't...take well to strangers," I ended lamely.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Adrianne shushed, pushing the neatly folded midnight coloured garb at me. "I know a thing or two about that."

Her huge husband started next to her, an indignant rumble coming from his chest but Adrianne effectively silenced it with an elbow to his side. It probably would have registered as much as using a twig to whack the hide of a mammoth but it worked. The day I could have Alduin wrapped around my finger like that was...well, never. Fingering the Nightingale armour and ancient cowl, I felt a rush of pleasure that had nothing to do with my wayward body. "They're as good as new." The large gashes where the arrows had pierced through to break my collarbone and tear into my thigh had disappeared, as had the dozens of scratches and superficial rips that had marked my armour for weeks. The half-mask was sewn back firmly, and I could see the glint of gold wire that Adrianne had used to reinforce the stitches. It must have been an expensive repair but any offer of payment would have been an insult since she and Ulfberth meant this as repayment for saving her and Proventus. "I cannot thank you enough."

"You should come in more often to get your armour repaired. Or at least let another smith look to those nicks and tears if you're too far from here," Adrienne admonished although she looked pleased.

"Not every smith in Skyrim knows how to work with enchanted items." That was a fact I had discovered the hard way when I had arrived in Dawnstar with deep tears in the Thieves Guild armour and several blackened edges reeking dragon smoke to find that it had been beyond the skill of either Rustlief or Seren to repair the damage wrought by five bandits, one blood dragon and a troll, possibly the stupidest in Skyrim, which had simply wandered into the midst of the battle.

"And there are some like Eorlund Gray-Mane who refuse to," Ulfberth added, exchanging a meaningful look with his wife. "We've heard that you might be having some...trouble with the Companions."

"You mean you heard Lydia and Vilkas were arrested for fighting in the streets," I sighed. Embarrassing as it was, and somewhat troubling too because it had been a known fact that I had joined the Companions shortly before I had left, there was no point in being less than direct. "I do have to speak with them. Some...matters need to be settled."

"You might want to avoid the marketplace," Adrianne said gently. It did nothing to assuage the mild horror that I could feel washing over me. "I'll speak to my father about the damages. You saved us all from the Stormcloaks; surely there must be some reward in that which could be used to compensate the vendors."

"Oh..." And here I'd been naively hoping that it had been something as simple as fisticuffs. The guard had mentioned Vilkas' black eye, not that it would have been that obvious with the copious amounts of war paint the man chose to smear his face with. Of course the only one who wore even more paint than Vilkas was Aela. Still, at least she looked ferocious and formidable; I had never quite had the heart or the courage to tell Vilkas he simply looked unwashed—

"Actually," Ulberth's low rumble cut in and brought my panicked, rambling thoughts back to the awful present. "You might want to take the Cloud District route to Dragonsreach when you pay Lydia's bail."

Well, at least the upside of all this bad news was that it had effectively wiped out my ardour. Alduin could have paraded himself across the room in the nu—okay, maybe not. But at least I had lost the urge to run out on Ulfberth and Adrianne in mid-conversation so that I could make little Dragonborns with Alduin. "Just how much damage did they do?" I didn't want to know, but experience had taught me I wasn't one of those people who could effectively put things like that out of mind; instead it set me on edge.

It might have been comical to see Adrianne and Ulfberth exchange long looks as they hesitated. Maybe ten years from now, I would laugh, if I lived that long. Right now though, I wanted to dig a hole in the ground and hide myself. Or maybe Vilkas' body. Lydia had a temper in her own right but she would never have made trouble this way, of that I was completely sure.

"The front entrance of Belethor's shop took quite a few blows from Vilkas and Lydia's weapons." Adrianne had put on her merchant's voice, rattling off the list as objectively as she would have if I had popped in to see what new merchandise she had acquired. "Anoriath's stall is semi-collapsed and his day's supply of fresh meat is currently not purchasable. Carlotta's stall requires new stands and a new covering; she may have to repurchase a fresh supply of vegetables and cheese. Fralia Grey-Mane's stall escaped damage—"

"A bloody miracle," I muttered.

"—but she twisted her ankle trying to get away from Lydia and Vilkas' altercation."

It was official: the Dragonborn could never, never catch a lucky break. I was going back to the Ebonmere and demand that Nocturnal accept my resignation letter.

"And somehow, Lydia managed to chop the well beam in half, although I do believe she was aiming for Vilkas who had fallen over it."

"Would that she had succeeded," I muttered in a futile attempt to take the edge of my ire, knowing that I didn't mean it.

"It wasn't for want of trying," Ulberth replied dryly. "I was there when the guards finally managed to corner them, only because they both somehow managed to disarm each other and all that was left to use were fists and boots. The Companions like to refer to themselves as wolves but your Lydia, there's a real she-wolf."

"Sigurd says it was Vilkas' fault. He was with Lydia when they encountered Vilkas' on the road. He was coming to find you and she would not let him pass."

'Because I was having my own little dispute with Alduin.' Lydia might well have saved Vilkas' life actually. If he had been angry enough to actually harm me, Alduin would have made every effort to kill him. Sighing deeply, I gathered the armour up. "I'm sure Vilkas will have something to say about whose fault it is when I see him. But thank you for the news; at least I know what to expect. Adrianne, I will pay for the damage." That earned a slight frown from the Imperial blacksmith. "I imagine your father and Jarl Balgruuf have to pay for refortifications, new weapons and armour. The farms beyond the city have been wrecked; there must have been citizens coming to ask for help. And I can well afford it," I smiled wanly.

"You intend to bail Vilkas out."

I nodded at Ulfberth. "We're still Shield Siblings, at least we still are as of now."

"You have a lot of siblings there. And only one of him," he nodded in the direction of the door. "Unless you mean to bring a dragon down on Jorrvaskr."

"Of course not!"

"Then maybe you might want an extra pair of hands to watch your back."

This time, my smile was far more genuine. "Thank you, but I can't accept. It might upset Vilkas more and make matters worse. Not everyone is as hot-headed; everything will be alright." If prophetic powers had been part of my retinue of skills, I might actually have believed myself. As it was, judging by the looks on both their faces, neither Adrianne nor Ulfberth believed me. It was time for an exit. "If you don't mind, I'd like to use a room to put these on."

Ulfberth looked like he wanted to press the matter but Adrianne had already taken me by the arm to show me to the back room. In the privacy it afforded and by the soft heat of the hearth, I yanked on my armour, glad for the shadows the cowl drew over my face. When I stepped out, the sun was about three hours from its zenith in the sky. I had less than twenty hours to smooth things over with the Companions, answer to Balgruuf while protecting their secret, and find a way to escape the Imperial contingents that were crawling all over the city. I rounded the corner to see Alduin eyeballing said Imperial soldiers who by now, had crowded the street opposite him. There was no way they would part for us and little chance of us getting through without weapons being drawn. Alduin caught sight of me and the lazy smile he unleashed made my breath catch and my knees weak, stoking what I had imagined to be dormant fires in my belly. Memories of what had happened in Anise's basement collided with the remnants of last night's dream. Again, there was that fierce, almost primal flash of lust and it genuinely alarmed me.

'You can do this,' I told myself sternly as I marched down the Plains District, my husband at my side and Imperial soldiers trailing in my wake. I would accomplish everything I set out to do without doing any of the things I had read about to Alduin. After all, I was the Dragonborn. That had to be good for something.


	44. Chapter 44

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: So, after some much needed time off, I come back to the real world and to writing. I'm glad this got done without as much kicking and wrestling as I anticipated. Life is going to get busy again but I hope to finish this story by this year, and also to start working on original writing which I have been planning for some time now. Btw, if anyone has seen some poems on Tumblr about a dragon and a princess which someone blogged as being very much Freyja's POV or situation, I would very much appreciate if they would PM me the link. I thought I saved it; apparently I didn't and now I can't find them anymore (the horror!). Also, just to include that I've borrowed a line from Wuthering Heights here; always loved that novel and that line. _

_EvoKov: You know, eventually I am going to get worn down and produce some Alduin/Freyja smut, probably as a separate one chapter fic or something. :) Julie5: Wow, thanks for that great compliment! I hope you enjoy this next chapter as much as you have the rest. Winter'sSentinel: Yeah, it's good to be back too. Thanks for letting me know! Ny'Kle: Well, I could say you did the same for my day by leaving that review. :) DuesalBladesinger: No spoilers I'm afraid but thank you for always letting me know what you liked so consistently. I really do appreciate it, very much so. Thehotmageaeris: I am, I am! HatakePuppy: Actually, you kind of painted the scene that I had in mind but my Muse warped it. I hope it's alright (?). And I hope you are over your writer's block by now. Sometimes, taking some time away might actually help. Ragez: Thanks! And also for always dropping by. applefanfic: *L* I'm glad you like the rest of my stories. And thank you for your very sweet review. Pyro: Thank you! Well, the thought occurred to me while I was running around Skyrim and a simple chat with some random stranger morphs into a task and I'm like, "No! I still have twenty other things to finish!" No rest for Dragonborns apparently. 32ndfreeze: Well, plenty of Alduin here to satisfy you I hope. GraphiteGirl: Several people have managed to mod a follower into Alduin actually; I've got the link to the one in deviantart posted on my profile page. The other can be found on tumblr. Just search for human!alduin. Midwinter Sun: Thank you for the detailed review; my Muse adores these and nothing else quite kicks her into gear the way these do. Except for super hot Loki pictures. :P Your validation of Freyja, who really is my first detailed OC, is especially precious. And yes, I have seen that GIF, thankfully when I wasn't drinking anything. Cracktheskye: I take the villains and make them hotter than the sun. :P Just kidding. I'm very flattered that this story got you to give in and play the game! And you predict right; there will be an escape scene. The only question is, how will they get out? Zute: More unhappy people in the next chapter to come! And thank you so very much for all your reviews, especially for all my smut-filled stories! *L* And I spy on your profile page that you are almost ready to work on "We Know" again. I'm just gonna sit patiently in that corner and wait. archergwen: Thank you and thank you again. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. CometWong: Why, you are a rare breed! It isn't often BoF readers can cross over to Skyrim and I'm so glad to hear from you. Thank you for everything in your review. I have hoped I've grown in my writing since then and it's immensely encouraging to hear from you about this. And thank you for reviewing my other stories, as well. :) I truly appreciate it. happysnail: Like I told Evokov, I am going to capitulate sooner or later and do my best to write smutty Alduin/Freyja. Eventually, that is. Probably so keep campaigning for it! As for Bryn and Alduin facing off, it's going to happen really soon. LucioBetaBlake: Yes she does. So does Alduin. :) That should give my Alduin/Freyja smut campaigners much hope. adamantineangel: I certainly hope I can and that you enjoy this latest offering as much too. _

**DRAGONREND **

**XLIV.**

This was not to be borne. Half the town looked on—sometime ago the door to one of the larger buildings appeared and vomited out all its occupants onto the steps leading to the door—and apparently some citizens had nothing better to do than watch as an Elf railed at Freyja while gesticulating violently towards his ruined stall. Around the huge rough cut flagstones were heaps of ruined meat, hacked bones with marrow spilling out and smears of blood that the flies were settling on. Alduin decided that if the Elf's hands came any closer to her or so much as brushed her body by a hair, he was going to remove them. The fifteen Imperial soldiers smirking from some distance away did not matter, neither did the Whiterun guards standing at their posts, or the any citizens who were stupid enough to imagine coming between him and his prey.

Perhaps what appalled him the most was Freyja's own behaviour. She just...stood there while a being whom she could have slain in less than half a breath shouted at her, humiliated her in public. Granted, he had had little experience of watching Freyja with others; for so long it had just been the both of them and her damned horse on the road. But Eydis and Skuli had always treated the Dragonborn with affection while Leontius, for all his at time acerbic moroseness, had never been rude or hostile. Shadowmere, for all his naked dislike of him, would have died for her. Looking at her now, he was reminded of the broken temple that was now known as Bleak Falls Barrow. He had never entirely forgotten that she _served_ a man who, like his ancestors, paraded the skull of a dragon as a trophy.

The Elf's voice rose in volume, Freyja held out a placating hand only for it to be knocked away and Alduin dropped his hand to his sword, took three paces forward before anyone else could move and ran up against the implacable obstacle of his wife's slim frame as she barred the way, gloved fingers locking onto the greaves of his pauldrons. Behind him, the sound of drawn blades cut the air but he saw nothing save for the frightened paleness of the other's face as he glared at the Elf over Freyja's shoulder.

"Don't," she whispered tersely, her face turned up to his although he would not look at her. "Don't give the Legates a reason to arrest us. Balgruuf cannot help us if we hurt his people."

He wanted to remind her that they were Dov. They bowed to nothing and no one and certainly did not have to grovel for the understanding of lesser beings. He could not imagine what was going through her mind.

"Sheath your blade."

Beneath his glare, the Elf quaked and for one sweet moment, he held the other in thrall and showed him what it was that dragons did to those beneath them.

"Please."

He blinked, broke the spell and the Elf let out a strangled gasp, stumbled back, a hand around his throat as if to make sure it was still there. To Alduin's disgust, Freyja did exactly as he thought she would. She caught the Elf before it fell, murmuring something in a low voice that he did not care to hear. To the side, another man who had been waiting to speak to Freyja backed several steps away as Alduin's cold stare lighted on him.

"I just want to tell her about the damage done to my store." He tugged slightly at his collar, turning several degrees whiter as Alduin's glare intensified. "Just some recompense, enough to fix the place up. I'm not going to touch her at all, of course not. Hands to myself and all that..."

"Belethor," Freyja called sharply and the man scuttled over to her with visible relief. The Elf was leaving, flanked by a woman and her daughter. She had been the only sensible one, accepting whatever Freyja had said without argument. With some measure of dark satisfaction, Alduin dropped the blade back into its sheath, throwing a mocking glance at the Imperial soldiers who bristled but were similarly forced to sheath their weapons as well. He wished they hadn't.

Freyja was seething in silence, as was he, by the time they gained the steps. Her brow was furrowed and she bit her lip several times but she held her tongue and for that he was thankful. Even though she had spent a good deal of their journey thus far arguing with him, she seemed no more enthusiastic than he was about working their disagreements out in public.

Apparently this changed the moment she realised the soldiers stopped following them at the stairs leading to Dragonsreach. They were midway up when she paused and turned to him.

"About what happened just now..."

He wished the rushing of the waters would drown out her voice. There was too much he wanted to say that he would completely mean and which she would make him regret.

"Thank you. For keeping your word."

It was uncanny, being disarmed by mere words. She had stolen all the indignant wind from beneath his proverbial wings. "Freyja." He probably looked as vexed as he sounded as he searched for the right words. "You must know what you are."

Some of the tension melted from her face and she let out a slight mirthless laugh. "I know what I must be now. I'm Thane to these people and Anoriath lost his brother in the battle. I didn't know, else I might have been better prepared."

"You are Dov kind," he insisted, trying to smother the impatience he felt with her words. "You must know what I mean. We do not," he resisted the urge to seize her arm when she looked away, a familiar stubborn set coming over her face, "allow others such liberties."

"What would you have me do? Brutalise him into submission? Make him an example by turning the marketplace into a bloodbath?"

She closed her eyes briefly at his silence that followed. "I cannot do that. I will not. You are a god, born of a god," she continued, her voice hitching so slightly it might have been the wind. "And I am not, but I have been sent all the same to contend with you for this world."

"You have the blood of Akatosh in you—"

"And also Alessia."

She stood but two steps ahead of him and he could look directly into her eyes but the gulf between them was widening with each word spoken, with each moment that passed.

"Has it never truly occurred to you?"

That there was a difference between a Dovah and a Dovahkiin, oh yes, it had occurred to him, more than once. Still, she could be won over. He would not admit defeat in this battle. "Many things have occurred to me Freyja. You will have to be more precise."

She looked so sad, for a fleeting moment, and he sensed rather than saw how much she wanted to reach for him then. But she did not. "That perhaps if the dragons and their priests had ruled with some degree of kindness, the temples might still stand. And perhaps there may not have been a need for me at all."

There were guards at the top and bottom of the steps and other eyes watching them. He was mindful of them, even as he gained those two steps so that he could draw even with her. "It is not in my nature to look back or to question myself." His voice was soft, the words firm. "You are here. I regret nothing."

He saw the fine tremor that ran through her frame and if they had been alone he would have held her. "That doesn't..."

"Let that suffice, for the moment." But behind him loomed the Monahven and that she could clearly see also. Time, for him, had become shaped by transience and he was all too aware of it passing them by.

"For the moment," she nodded, hesitantly, a small yet sweet concession. Yes, there would be time enough, he reassured himself.

* * *

><p>My knees felt shamefully wobbly as I ascended the remaining steps, trailing slightly after Alduin. What does a woman say when a god tells her such things? It seemed much, much more than those many moons before when I had asked him if he regretted his unwitting rescue of me at Helgen. And here, on the steps to Dragonsreach, minutes after when he would have cut down Anoriath and probably others for what he felt as a slight to me, to us, I had my answer and it still made my blood sing.<p>

'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' The same blood ran in our veins. 'The same and more in yours.' Did the difference lie only in that? I had grown in a mortal body, no matter how little of myself I knew. Mortals were my kind as well, as much as dragons were. Arngeir's gentle words that coaxed me from the brink of Sithis' abyss came back to mind as I eyed Alduin's tall imposing form, watched as he swept past the guards posted at the tops of the stairs and waited for me. "This way," I murmured, and he followed, keeping me safely between the wall and himself. Could he ever understand?

Stopping outside the unobtrusive thick wooden door tucked at the back of the castle, I breathed deeply and prepared myself. I tried not to remember Kodlak's face, his features deep set and sunken with old age and disappointment as he watched me slink out of Jorrvaskr. Perhaps it had been his last cry I had heard amidst the cacophony of howls that had pierced the air as I raced past. Drawing another breath, I pushed open the door and met Farkas' startled gaze.

At that moment, the guard at the station, obscured by another slighter, leaner form which I recognised, exploded. "Don't think you can barter with me like I'm one of those damned shopkeepers!" A meaty fist slammed down hard on the table. "Now I remember—you're that new member of the Companions. So you what—fetch the mead?"

"Careful there," Farkas growled, whipping his head around. "He's still one of us."

"And he's a friend as well," I added, slipping the coin purse out of the pouch clipped to my belt. "I do believe this will be enough."

Sinding wore a faint smile as he turned around. "I thought it was you." Then he rubbed his nose lightly and I knew exactly what he meant. He had caught our scent.

"It's about time I showed up," I said simply. Sinding obviously welcomed me while Farkas... He raised a huge hand—he was just shy of Alduin's height by an inch or so—and held it out to me.

"Welcome back," he greeted, his grip firm and sincere as I gratefully clasped it. So Farkas was still my friend, and he would be a valuable ally. And that would mean an even more furious Vilkas than I had anticipated. "This must be the Dragon Rider."

Alduin favoured Farkas with an even cool look that bordered on icy. Realising the reason why, I quickly let go of Farkas and stepped back. 'That he is. This is Aldin, my husband." Rather than watch the two men size each other up, I made my way to the station table, where Sinding still stood.

"I'd offer you a proper greeting, but I doubt he would appreciate it." Sinding's smile was wry and he rubbed the heel of one palm over his eyes, which looked distinctly reddish and tired.

"I'm glad to see you. I was worried..." There wasn't more than I could say, at least not in front of the guard who cleared his throat loudly. Irritated, I slammed the heavy pouch down. It would have cracked the guard's knuckles had he not yanked his hand back during the scant seconds I gave him. "Here's a thousand septims. Together with what they've offered, there should be enough to get both my housecarl and the Companion released."

"Absolutely!" The voice made itself known before its owner came skidding round the corner. Although he wore a helmet, I knew who he was. There weren't many guards in Whiterun who had the audacity, fuelled by some kind of foolish admiration, to come tiptoeing up to me only to whisper that they knew who I was and to hail the name of Sithis. There was only one really, and his name was Garrald and he had seen twenty-five winters and I knew precisely which bunk of the guard barracks he slept in. The reason why I had all this information was because once upon a time, I had considered murdering Garrald should he have proven himself to be an obstacle or a blabbermouth. Silence had served this brother well and so he had lived. "Whatever you need, Dragonborn. Just say the word."

"I want Lydia and Vilkas out of their cells please."

"Done." Garrald disappeared again. I could hear the loud jangling of the keys in his hand.

"We should follow him. Just to make sure." Farkas looked Alduin over again curiously before loping after Garrald with an easy grace that belied his size and stature. Sinding followed automatically, leaving me alone with Alduin and the scowling guard.

"I don't like him," Alduin muttered as he stepped closer to me.

"You can't dislike someone simply for being male," I pointed out.

"Leontius was acceptable, in my opinion."

"That's because anyone with one eye can see how devoted he is to Eydis. I could have been a speck of dirt on the floor for all he cared."

"Are you accusing me of being jealous?"

Just before we stepped through the doorway to where the jail cells lay, I leaned up on my toes, close enough for my lips to brush his ear. "Yes." I caught the quick smile he flashed before it disappeared and resisted the urge to press a kiss to his cheek.

"Oh, look who is here."

I knew I had forgotten something, or rather, someone. Turning away from Alduin with a sigh, I faced Sabjorn who stood there behind the bars with his arms crossed, wearing the same supercilious expression he always did, except for the first time when we had met and he almost fooled me with his gracious warm act.

"It was you, wasn't it?" he spat, dropping his hands to wrap them around the bars. He was probably imagining those were my throat. "I should have known better. Now look at me."

"You don't exactly look the worse for wear. And I think you got exactly what you deserved." Surreptitiously, I slid my hand into Alduin's and gave a warning squeeze as I started walking towards the middle of the row of cells, where Garrald was busy unlocking one cell while Farkas and Sinding waited at the end. Thankfully, he came without any argument.

"You've sent an innocent man to jail!" The last part came out in a shout that echoed off the low ceiling. "I hope you're proud of yourself."

"Can that one be bailed out?" Alduin asked. The casual tone did nothing to fool me.

"He would make very poor sport," I replied.

"You insist on protecting these fools from themselves."

I shrugged. "I prefer myself this way." Then the cell door opened and Lydia stepped out. She was favouring her right leg but didn't wince even when she was forced to put weight on it. There were scuffmarks all over her armour; dirt and a variety of bloody scraps and scratches covered her skin. A nasty bruise was forming at the bottom of her chin and her braid was somewhat askew.

"My Thane, I..." Ignoring Farkas and Sinding completely, she looked miserably at the floor, as though hoping it would swallow her up.

Resisting the urge to elbow Alduin who was murmuring something about death before surrender, I stepped forward and grasped her arm, careful to avoid any open wounds. "I hope you gave Vilkas as good as you got."

She looked up immediately, brown eyes flashing. "Of course my Thane. At least there I haven't disgraced you."

"You haven't disgraced me Lydia," I corrected. "You may have cost me a lot of money but if Vilkas really was on the warpath," I lowered my voice, "then it was for the best that you faced him. Otherwise, matters might be far worse and beyond fixing." I tilted my head slightly in Alduin's direction.

"I thought so too," she said before ducking her head slightly, looking guilt-stricken again. "Although towards the end I must confess that I'd forgotten that and all I wanted was to—"

"Improve Vilkas' looks by removing his head?" I quipped, drawing a startled laugh from her. "Don't worry, the same thought occurred to me when he called me a whelp and told me his blunt sword was more valuable than I was." That had been a slice of humble pie I had struggled to swallow, especially since I had been Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild in all but name.

"I should have hit him harder with my shield," she grumbled.

"No second chances allowed there, I'm afraid." The grating screech of a cell door swinging open interrupted whatever she was about to say. Vilkas came striding out, his face wreathed in its perpetual scowl which swiftly descended into a snarl as he saw the flash of golden light which suffused Lydia and closed up her wounds, and the fact that it was me standing next to her.

"Where have you been?" Vilkas started forward furiously before Farkas yanked him back. "Hands off, brother!" He jerked hard against Farkas who simply grabbed hold of his other arm and held on. "She should have been there! She was there but she chose to save her Jarl before her Shield-Siblings, before her Harbinger!"

Now it was my turn to wish the ground would swallow me up. I had made my choice and there were no excuses I could offer or cared to make.

"I hope you feel it was important enough," he seethed, looking exactly like the slavering wolf that adorned his breastplate while twisting ineffectually against Farkas whose eyes were firmly fixed not on me but on the very real threat of Alduin who was suddenly looming directly at my side. "Because it means you weren't there to defend him!"

"I know. And I'm so sorry." Vilkas spat contemptuously on the ground at that. "Although that means nothing to you," I finished quietly.

Naked pain slashed over Vilkas' face, contorting it far more than the bruises and cuts that lined his jaw. He might as well have hit me; it would have hurt less. "You have no idea what you've cost him."

"Perhaps we ought to remove ourselves to Jorrvaskr," Sinding's clear voice cut the tension like a well-honed knife. "This is a matter for the Companions and the others would want to hear Freyja out for herself."

"What say you, brother?" Farkas asked. "It's a good idea."

For a long moment, I thought Vilkas was going to turn down that idea in favour of another attempt at decorating the dungeon with my innards. "Then for the last time, unhand me." Vilkas shook off Farkas' grip but not before levelling a dirty glare at his twin that I knew was more bark than bite. "You may return to our hall, just this once." Turning to a guard, he snapped an order for his weapons and the man scurried to obey, probably motivated by fear of the man as much as his status. Lydia shifted slightly and I realised that someone, probably Garrald, had returned her shield and Chillrend to her.

Alduin's hand landed on the small of my back and I looked up. "I will not be made to trail behind their kind like a supplicant that has erred." And neither should you. That part remained unsaid but I understood him all the same.

"We will meet you there." Vilkas looked inclined to argue but Farkas uttered his agreement and sent Sinding along with us, presumably so that one of the more hot-headed Companions would not assault us the moment I showed my face.

"Well, that wasn't so bad, all things considered," Sinding breathed as we stepped out of the dungeon.

"Probably only because he had half the life beaten out of him," Lydia muttered tersely, making no effort to put her shield away.

"That might have helped too." That earned Sinding a surprised look from Lydia. "I might be one of them but it doesn't mean I'm blindly loyal. Vilkas is like a flash fire; once he has had time to cool down, common sense will take over."

"That's not what happened this morning."

"True but..."

Alduin looked pleased as Lydia and Sinding dropped several paces behind us.

"And why do you look so smug?" I couldn't resist asking.

"For one, I am no longer downwind of that wolf. Can you not smell them?"

"I've noticed a particular kind of scent but..."

Alduin dismissively waved away my weak attempt at politeness. "That wolf spirit inside them makes them positively reek. And secondly, you can no longer accuse me of disliking every male acquaintance you have, apart from Leontius."

It took a moment before the full implication of his words sunk in and I almost missed that first step down. "Sinding and Lydia?" I mouthed silently. "No way."

"Would you care to make a bet?"

"And what would you like to wager? Sapphires again?"

"Nirn."

His golden eyes shone with wicked humour and something softer that pricked hard at my heart. "That's already on the table, I'm afraid."

"So it is, Dragonborn. So it is."


	45. Chapter 45

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Hey everyone, I am back. I do apologise for the long absence; my workload does not leave time for anything else and I've been writing in little bits and pieces before trying to pull everything together. Not even Mr Hiddleston with his ice bucket challenge could help (I know he'll never see this but I'll say it anyway. Tom, you knew very well what putting on THAT white tee would do! And it worked, damn it.) It's a bit of a dry chapter, uneven I feel in places but it had to be written anyway and the best I can do for now. Next chapter will definitely have more action. I'm just so glad to get this out of the way. Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I do love you guys and your kind words keep me going. A special shout out to the guest reviewer who said the UST between Freyja and Alduin was thicker than Hermaeus Mora; I cannot play through some sections of Hearthfire with a straight face now._

**DRAGONREND **

**XLV.**

Sucking in a deep breath, I braced my hand against the heavy wooden door of the fabled mead hall of the illustrious Companions and for one second, considered snatching it back and tearing down those steps back to Breezehome. 'Right, because Lydia will be so impressed with that little show of cowardice, especially after you turned up in Thieves Guild armour.' During my time with the Guild, the occasional job as thief and task as Dovahkiin had seen me pass through Whiterun and I had always taken care not to let Lydia see me dressed in the tanned leather I had taken to like a second skin. Brynjolf breaking my heart three weeks before had made me throw caution to the wind. And it figured, especially since I was technically running away from my responsibilities and thus Nocturnal, a fact which made me feel guilty enough to stash my Nightingale armour into my pack, that my luck would take a downturn. I had arrived in Whiterun at midnight, legitimately entering my own home using my keys, and inexplicably knocked over a chair. Having set it aright with some cursing under my breath, a fierce roar from the steps made me jump backward into said chair and I stumbled, coming up against the wall and drew my blade just in time to block a fierce slash that would have sent me to Oblivion and the waiting arms of either Nocturnal or Azura.

"I know Thieves Guild armour when I see it!" she hissed. "How dare you—"

"Lydia!" I screeched. "It's me!"

The hearth was warm with reddish embers that did nothing to light the room and all that remained was the dying light of one solitary wall sconce that shone no light on my face, thanks to the hood that obscured it. Lydia never approved of leaving too many lit sconces after bedtime. "Best way to get your house burned down," she explained brusquely before proceeding to extinguish all but one during the first night we spent under the roof of this house.

"My Thane?" she uttered, sounding completely confused.

"The one and only." I smiled through gritted teeth. "Would it be too much to ask you to put Chillrend away?" The icy cold from the blade was seeping over the bared skin of my fingers; I could feel it on my lips. That was how close Lydia had come to cleaving me in half.

"Forgive me." Quick as a whip, she stepped back, sheathing the sword with a graceful expertise I still envied, though not as badly as before. "I just didn't recognise you...dressed like that. Why are you dressed like that?" she asked. There was a sharp edge to those last three words; they marked the spot where bewilderment gave way to suspicion and the beginnings of what sounded like dread.

With a heavy sigh, I lowered my blade and the subsequent harsh crack of the crossguard against the sheath sounded like a sentence. "That's because I am one, Lydia." The darkness made it that much harder to spot the disappointment on her face; instead I had to read it in the sudden stiffness of her posture, the sudden and slight intake of breath that passed her lips. 'Just one more person to disappoint,' I thought wearily, dropping into a chair as I shrugged the hood back and dragged out my messy, sweat-drenched braid.

"And that is why you have to do this," I muttered, chastising myself. After all, I needed some more training for out there lay Alduin and as much progress as I had made, I had my doubts that it made me the equivalent of the god of Destruction. Not to mention the coin would be useful, and it would give me something to do instead of hiding in Breezehome and nursing my aching heart. Before I could entertain a second thought about more second thoughts, I pushed hard against the sun-warmed wood and stepped over threshold into Jorrvaskr.

The warmth from the huge burning hearth and the hearty smell of meat and mead were the second and third things which hit me. The first was the fact that two of the Companions were having a brawl and from the way they didn't pull their punches, I could tell it was no practice session. 'Brynjolf would have whipped their asses for this,' I thought, slightly stunned when a fearsome looking redhead—Aela, her name was Aela—shouted out to the woman to finish her Dunmer opponent. In the Cistern, if we had differences we talked it over or took it outside.

A chorus of shrill whistles and mocking cries rang out the Nord woman slugged her Dunmer opponent across the face hard enough to make him drop to the floor. In turn though, he hooked her feet out from under her and she went down in a tangle of limbs. Clearly I wasn't in Riften anymore.

"What do you need, dear?" The old woman held a broom in her lined hands, and the years had been equally unkind to her face. But her eyes were clear and bright, her glance knowing.

"I'm uh...I'm here to see Kodlak Whitemane."

"He's in the quarters down below. There's a staircase to your right. Follow it down and proceed all the way to the end of the corridor. Good luck."

As I moved pass the great table, no one paid me any attention save for a huge man decked out in steel armour with a steel greatsword strapped to his back. The black war paint he smeared on his face made those stark silver eyes stand out even more. There was something slightly odd about him too, but I put him out of mind as I descended the steps, paying little heed to the strange metal fragments that Companions had mounted on the wall to my left.

"_You have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane up in Jorrvaskr. The old man's got a good sense for people. He can look in your eyes and tell your worth."_

Sourly, I imagined a big bear of a man with a huge crown of white hair that dwarfed the Forsworn headdresses I had seen looking me dead in the eye and pronouncing that I was a misbegotten thief spawn of Nocturnal and that the Companions did not accept such in their hallowed halls.

Perhaps if he'd done that, he would still be alive.

... ... ...

Or perhaps if Aela and Skjor had just held back and not moved against the Silver Hand without Kodlak's knowledge and approval, the Harbinger would have survived as well.

"What is she doing here?" Njada spat, rising from Torvar who had had half his face buried in the mug he held in his right hand. I suspected that was because the other one clutched in his left was empty. He was still holding them, round-eyed and red-faced, the beginnings of a frown starting to write themselves into the lines drawn by years of indulging, hangovers and the dark secrets I had never cared to know that he tried repeatedly to drown.

"You little bitch! I always knew we should never have let you in." Heedless of Lydia or Alduin, both of whom flanked me on either side, the tall blonde woman stalked towards us, sabre cat savage but without the sly cunning of the beast.

"Stand down."

She didn't have to shout to be heard. Aela's cool voice cut through the hiss and spit of the crackling hearth, the harsh scrape of benches pushed back by Companions who had risen to their feet, made the solid shadows of Vignar Gray-Mane and Brill in the far corner to the left pause for a moment.

"She doesn't have a right to be here," Njada insisted with more venom than some of the Frostbite Spiders I had encountered. From behind, I heard heavy steps and the brush of a much lighter one. Quite clearly it was Farkas and Vilkas, in that order; for some reason, Farkas had seen the necessity of mastering the art of sneaking. In Dustman's Cairn, he had benignly turned down any suggestion of stealth, looking mildly amused that I had even suggested as much. All I could think of at that moment was how exasperating this was, and how much snark would have been dripping from Mercer's lips if he'd been in my place.

For a moment, Njada's eyes bulged before naked fury carved itself into her face. Now, that was truly surprising. I ought to have realised it the moment the blonde fighter had rounded on Aela. When I had been one of them, Njada had practically worshipped the older woman, had always been extremely respectful of the brothers. She took a step forward, fists clenched. Next to me, Lydia tensed, as did Sinding. Alduin didn't move and I found that worried me more. As unobtrusively as I could manage, I moved closer to him and curled my fingers against his lightly. He didn't respond, but at least he didn't pull away.

"Why am I not surprised?" she bit out explosively.

"Njada." Vignar was approaching, Brill trailed behind several steps. "Hear them out first." The light of the hearthfire was not enough to drive all the shadows from the face of the oldest Companion; the flesh around his eyes looked bruised, those weathered cheeks looked more sunken than before.

"What's going on? Athis can't sleep with all this noise." A figure emerged from the stairs, lithe with a head crowned with short black hair. "Freyja? What are you—Njada!"

"I'm leaving." She shot a disgusted look at Torvar who had sunk back, literally, into his cups before looking around at all the other Companions. "It's pretty obvious the Circle," her eyes an angry swathe back to the twins and Aela, "has made its decision."

'She knows.' My mind went back to the terrible howling that filled Jorrvaskr and I could have hit myself for not putting two and two together. Of course she knew, and so did the other Companions now.

"Njada," Vilkas growled. It was a warning, as subtle as anything an enraged Vilkas could manage, which wasn't much actually. But he was trying to control himself.

'Because he feels guilty.' The Companions prided themselves on having each other's backs, on looking after their Shield-siblings. A family of warriors that fought and drank and celebrated life's rough joys side by side. And that implied trust, implied no secrets were kept between them, not the kind where one concealed secrets like Beast Blood.

"Try and stop me." With a defiant toss of her head, she headed for the other set of doors. Slamming them open, she strode out, leaving in her wake harsh sunlight that streamed in and a deafening silence. Nobody moved until Aela walked over and pulled the doors shut. Behind me, Farkas and Vilkas did the same. Ria looked as though she wanted to go after Njada, but a quick look down the stairs seemed to give her resolve and she remained where she was.

In the end, it was Vignar who spoke. "I suppose now you'll tell us why you have returned, Dragonborn." His tones were cool, his face impassive. Somehow, he had managed to turn my title, my name, into an insult.

The momentary weight of Alduin's gaze fell on me. I kept my spine straight. "I'm not here to apologise, Vignar. I will, though, explain my actions, a last act before my formal removal from within the Companions. I also need an explanation that will satisfy the Jarl. He needs to know what you intend to do about the secret passage within the Underforge."

"Were you even one of us, at any time?" Brill broke in, outraged. "The Harbinger is dead and you come here now to speak to us as Balgruuf's lackey—"

"How dare you!" Lydia shot back furiously. "The Dragonborn is the Thane, and that makes her more than just a Companion. She answers to the Jarl and this entire city."

"A task she performed so admirably seeing as to how she left Kodlak to the Silver Hand."

"If the Companions can't protect their own—"

The sound of weapons drawn punctured the air.

"That's enough!"

Perhaps it was a coincidence but the flames of the hearth seemed to shrink back a little at Farkas' roar. I winced, slightly. Alduin looked mildly impressed and everyone else looked stunned. It was always the quiet ones, Brynjolf had said, and a sentiment that Gabriella had echoed. It wasn't always entirely true of course, but it was a saying worth paying attention to.

"Let's try this again," I said evenly.

* * *

><p>Like the rest of Whiterun, the place did not impress him much. After all he had seen better. He had built better. And he had ever been one to let others know when they were outclassed. The Companions bristled visibly as he openly scrutinised their precious hall, and Alduin found a kind of disgruntled pleasure in it, petty as it was. After all, Freyja was making sure that she stayed right by his side, after a quiet discreet word to Lydia who, to his disappointment, lost some of her fiery verve and replaced it with boring self-control. Apparently, his act of remaining calm in order to lure someone within striking reach, preferably that loud boor of a woman should she return, or perhaps that mewling wit of a man who followed in the old fool's shadow, had not fooled her. It was a point of both vexation and pride.<p>

As the dragon god of Destruction, he also deeply resented the free and easy use of the likeness of his race. What connection did these mortals feel with dragonkind whom they had hunted to near extinction that they would deck their rooftops with them and paint their doors with what looked suspiciously like dragonlings—and ill-formed ones at that—to his critical eye? There was no end to the arrogant presumption of these humans. It was enough to make him eye the boiled crème treat within reach with little more than disinterest. Getting them to sit down at the table was little more than a sham; neither he nor Freyja or Lydia were truly here as guests and everyone was right back to where they started, tense and ill at ease.

"Perhaps we might start by listening to Freyja," the redheaded woman, the one who introduced herself as Aela, suggested with a pleasantness that belied the cool steel in her voice. Resting her clasped hands on the table, she turned to his wife. Alduin felt more assured since he and Lydia had, of one silent accord, made Freyja sit between them. The lean warrior reminded him somewhat of Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, although a love of copious war paint seemed, outwardly, to be the only thing both women had in common. Aela was potentially dangerous, perhaps more so than Farkas and Vilkas because she looked to be a lot quicker. Narrowing his eyes slightly, Alduin decided that a Thu'um to slow down the currents of Time would be in order if Aela decided to attack his wife. Her guts would be on the ground by the time he was finished. And everyone else still standing would be fair game.

"I know I betrayed my oath as a Companion," Freyja began and Alduin resisted the urge to remind her that as one of the Dov, she could do what she wanted. "For that I ask no forgiveness. But Lydia is correct, as Thane and as...the Dragonborn, there was more for me to consider."

"Kodlak Whiteman was not important enough in your evaluation?" Vilkas sounded as almost as bitter as any defeated foe that he had ever brought to heel. That was not what had caught his attention though. The man's eyes were bloodshot from sorrow and a sore lack of rest, and he sat with the same kind of unnatural stillness as Aela and Farkas. Except for that strange tensing of the muscles around his neck, so quick that it appeared everyone else had missed it. Each time it happened, the stench of wolf spirit grew sharper, more pervasive, only to fade when Vilkas made himself relax. Each time it happened, Alduin had to control the urge to respond, to roar a warning to the Daedric spirit inside that mortal form.

Her pale blue eyes were luminous; she held her chin high. "He was, he is, important to me. But between Balgruuf and Kodlak, between the Harbinger of the Companions and a Jarl upon whom depends the safety of every person in this city, I had to choose and I chose Balgruuf."

"Ulfric had no intention of sacking Whiterun," the old man, Vignar, interjected, just a shade shy of being dismissive. "You make it sound like he meant to slaughter everyone."

"Ulfric is not a man to take 'no' for an answer. Every Nord who does as he says would be safe—"

"You're not being fair."

"I've seen Ulfric's version of 'fair' so don't patronise me." Freyja leaned forward, anger smoothing her expression into a mask of cold rage. "Fair in Windhelm is a slum quarter for the Dunmer and the freezing docks for Argonians and a palace full of Nords." She arched a mocking brow at Vignar. "I'll take my chances with Balgruuf."

Vignar sucked in a sharp breath. "You mean to stand with him at the Moot."

"If I can. Most of you know what the other Jarls are like. So do I, I've met them." She looked down along the long stretch of the table. Not everyone looked back. "The Aldmeri Dominion won't stop at the White-Gold Concordant, won't be satisfied with rounding up Nords on charges of Talos worshipping. The Emperor is dead and currently the Empire is in the midst of a power struggle for that throne. It's only a matter of time before something happens. There will be another war."

"These are not matters the Companions concern themselves with," Ria said, although she looked slightly helpless.

"No, they aren't. That's why I'm no longer one of you." Her gaze dropped to the table for a moment before she lifted it. "And now I need to know what you will do about the Underforge."

For one moment, all the Companions stared at Lydia, even Sinding. Alduin could almost taste the hesitant suspicion in the air. "I am the Thane's sword and shield. I swear on that honour and mine that whatever you say remains here."

"The citizens would drive us out of Whiterun, Companions or no, if they discover our secret," Aela said simply, making it amply clear that she didn't trust the housecarl's oath. Beside her, Farkas nodded grimly. Beside Alduin, Lydia gave a half-stifled sigh of exasperation.

"The Jarl is not asking us to explain what such an escape route is doing in the Underforge."

Freyja blinked, the only sign that she was utterly surprised that it was Vilkas who had spoken. "Indeed. All Balgruuf wants is a guarantee that it can never be used against the city again."

"So he's only half the fool I've always taken him for," Vignar muttered. He could not quite hide his relief though, the same relief that was mirrored on the expressions of the rest of the Companions. Up until that point, the old man had been sitting there, silent and scowling so fiercely at Freyja that Alduin had briefly considered the knife next to the boiled crème treat. "I'll speak to Eorlund." Silence was all that greeted that statement. While nobody looked particularly happy with it, they had nonetheless given their assent. "Tell Balgruuf no one will ever be able to enter or leave Whiterun by the Underforge again, my word as a Gray-Mane on it."

"The Skyforge is ancient. The Underforge has to be just as old. It's older than these walls," Brill said softly, more a lament than a protest.

Vignar's face gentled as he rose, the younger man hastily getting to his feet as well. "I know, my friend. But its purpose was to aid us and know it still serves that purpose in this. Come, I think our time here is done."

Now that was a dismissal, if there ever was one. Farkas and Ria slowly got to their feet, as did Sinding. Apparently without their leader, the pack was somewhat in disarray, as that earlier scene had so clearly demonstrated. Aela and Vilkas were slower to rise; both radiated a mild resentment at being thus ordered. "As is my time here as well," Freyja said pointedly, rising at last from her chair, his cue and Lydia's to do like wise. "Sinding, perhaps if you would be so kind to accompany an old friend. It would a gesture of good will for a representative of the Companions to be present when I speak to the Jarl."

Vignar opened his mouth but Vilkas spoke first. "It would indeed. But there is another matter that I must speak to you about. Privately," he added, ignoring the black glare Alduin levelled at him. "It's about Kodlak."

"You cannot be serious," Alduin turned, blocking Freyja from view, keeping his voice as low as he could manage. Lydia completed their little circle, tight-lipped with disapproval dripping from every pore.

"He's not going to harm me," Freyja argued. "And if it's about Kodlak I have to hear him out. It is the decent thing to do." He looked blankly at her and she visibly bit back a sigh. "It's the right thing to do."

Alduin, who reckoned he could count the number of decent things he had ever done in his long life with half the claws on either a wing or foot, most recently a hand, considered tossing his wife over his shoulder and carrying her out of there.

"Whatever you're considering, don't."

He scowled. The infuriating woman knew him all too well. A quick glance at Lydia confirmed the futility of trying to change Freyja's mind; the other woman now looked resigned in addition to grim.

"I just need half an hour—" She would have to be blind not to notice how livid that made him. "A quarter of an hour," she hastily amended. Alduin growled. "It's just fifteen minutes, just to hear him out."

Fifteen minutes too much and too long, in his opinion which his wife was choosing to blatantly ignore. But there was little else he could do, unless he wanted to use physical force to remove her from the situation, for which he would suffer significant retribution. Still, it was all he could do to restrain himself from following as he watched Vilkas lead her down the steps until she disappeared behind closed doors. Next to him, Lydia shifted restlessly. Sinding had retreated to a far corner of the room with Aela and Farkas, deep in conversation about something he could not bring himself to listen in on. "I've got a bad feeling about this," Lydia muttered.

Hearing that simply frayed his stretched nerves further. For all his possessive bluster, he was certain that Freyja could look after herself. A Dovah was more than a match for a wolf after all, even a Daedric one, and Freyja was armed with both the Thu'um and two blades. That didn't stop his instincts from continually gnawing at his gut, deepening the conviction that it was a mistake to let her out of his sight.


	46. Chapter 46

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man.

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Okay, here's another quick update, probably the last that I can squeeze in for awhile. But I am super stoked about this chapter and if you like it, please let me know too! It felt good writing this one. I hardly slept, so if there are mistakes, I will clean them up again later. _

_Insatiablecuriosity: Thanks for the last two reviews, especially the wonderful long one (I enjoy getting a wall of words!). I'm afraid this chapter might not help with those frayed nerves though. SingularMonk: Thank you, it made me feel good knowing you found it interesting. And yes, Kodlak's journal is the centre of this chapter. Guest: Hell yeah, thanks for hanging in there. :) NyKle: Aw, thank you. It's good to be back too, for however much time I can steal from RL. KiraKyuu: You're very welcome. Thank you for the review. Zute: You know, about that option to say no?...*wicked grin*...It was lovely to hear from you again. BarenziahtheLuminous: Thank you so much! It's a lovely compliment to give and really encouraging. I do mean it-I enjoy writing this story and stretching my writing muscles but I seriously doubt I would have made it through thus far and on to the end if not for the steady stream of encouragement and feedback from you guys. Guest: Well, you know. I am a tease. :P That should clue you in to how this chapter ends. Sam: I have yet to see that clip! Always so, so nice to meet another Hiddles fan. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Blooddrunkwolf: Don't apologise for the inner fangirl mode! If there's ever a place to let it out, it's here. ;) Thank you for letting me know how much you've enjoyed this story so far. I really do appreciate it. 32ndfreeze: Why, thank you. LilithiaRW: So do we hon, so do we. :) Greenstripe: You're too kind! Sometimes I wonder if the plot's a mad roller-coaster ride so it's nice to know that even if it is, it makes sense and is enjoyable. And it's great to know that I'm still holding the ball when it comes to Freyja and Alduin's characterisation. So thank you and thank you. _

**DRAGONREND **

**XLVI.**

It was almost a relief to have the doors close behind me, if only to stop the sensation of two angry, disapproving pairs of eyes boring holes between my shoulder blades. Almost, because now I was alone with Vilkas and to say that the silence was awkward was a gross understatement. Things did not get better when Tilma emerged, looking even more haggard than usual. She eyed me briefly, thin lips becoming even thinner before disappearing into another room, a bowl of bloodied wrappings cradled in her hands. That hurt far more than Njada's raging.

"Will Athis be alright?" I inquired, hating the formal politeness of my voice. While I had never exactly been able to call Vilkas my favourite drinking buddy, at least there had been a fairly comfortable camaraderie between us, enough so that we could sit in easy silence at the table for a meal, or trade stories about jobs. We had both stood at the Skyforge as Skjor's pyre burned, had drunk to the battle-hardened warrior's life and death; that night I had heard more about Vilkas' childhood days at Jorrvaskr under Skjor's tutelage. The older man had clearly been a parental figure of some kind, and knowing that he was the fourth in a series of heartrending losses for the twins had made Krev the Skinner's death that much sweeter. That, Aela's persuasion, and my own vengeance and guilt had sent me out with the huntress on one more raid to assassinate a Silver Hand leader she had located. Between the both of us, we'd turned Fort Fellhammer into a bloodbath. There was hardly a body left intact and Aela had saved the leader for the last, coming for him in her true form. He died screaming, cut to ribbons beneath a rain of savage fangs and claws. And as horrified as I had been, a part of me had been excited, the same part that stirred to life when I battled the dragons who hunted me. We had barely washed the blood from our bodies in a nearby stream when Aela made it clear that we were far from done. Four days of hard travelling later, we reached Jorrvaskr and that night I left without Kodlak's blessing.

"Freyja?"

I blinked, coming back to the present to see clear silver-grey eyes fixed on me. "Sorry," I muttered. "I didn't hear you the first time."

"I said his fever just broke, a good sign. His bones will take longer to knit but Tilma feels he will make a strong recovery." The momentary brightness of his expression dulled once more. "He would have died though, if it hadn't been for Kodlak. The Harbinger saved him, although it was at great cost."

"He used the beastblood. I heard the howling from beneath the Gildergreen."

Vilkas continued as though I hadn't spoken. "Aela too. There were so many of them, too many. They overwhelmed us, seven and eight to one. They would have killed Tilma if Farkas had not shoved her downstairs and barred the way." Briefly he passed a hand over his face as we entered the end of the passageway, where Kodlak's room was. Everything looked the same, perfectly preserved in his memory. The only things missing were the ever-present apple pie and assorted sweet treats that usually graced the round corner table. It used to amuse and amaze me, how Kodlak would calmly consume a boiled crème treat in full view of the fresh Daedra hearts and giants' toes littering his workbench and shelf.

The old faded map was still there, a relic of his adventuring days, or so Kodlak had told me. It held the locations of secret places, caverns and underground tombs that no ordinary traveller's map would have. I had used it for my own reference, copying its secrets by lamplight while Kodlak read quietly and occasionally studied me when he thought I didn't know. "What's that?" There was a new marking, the ink darker and clearer than all the rest. The fact that it had been made in red was what had drawn my eye in the first place. "And in Falkreath too." That was one Hold I would not be returning to anytime soon.

"It's the last thing Kodlak was working on before his death. You knew he was looking for a cure to free us, to free himself."

"He found it?" Even I hadn't quite believed that kind of power could be lifted.

"Some things are best spoken of behind closed doors. And there is something I should show you."

At that moment, I was very glad to have left Alduin fuming upstairs. A handsome man who said such things while holding open the door to private living quarters would have been too much for the fledgling level of tolerance he was beginning to cultivate. Stepping past the doors, I paid no heed to the sound of them closing, noting instead how scrupulously clean everything was. Tilma was still faithfully performing her duties. This new room would be for the next Harbinger. I wondered whom that would be, and how much more difficult now that trust within the group had been broken. Once, I had overheard Torvar complaining about how things were being run, how the Circle were lording it over the younger ones like him. Thankfully, Athis had knocked some sense into him before Farkas, who had been handing me the coin for my last job, felt compelled to do anything. I wondered if the Dunmer still felt the same way.

From the top drawer of an end table, Vilkas withdrew a worn leather journal. "I think you should read this. I found it, when we were searching for the fragment of Wuuthrad that we knew Kodlak kept."

"He kept a fragment? Speaking of which, I noticed the wall..." The words died in my mouth as my hands touched the journal. Vilkas' expression was best described as stormy, features granite with fury he could not quite suppress as his hands curled into fists. So the Silver Hand had taken more than Kodlak's life; they had stolen all that remained of the fabled battleaxe, a legacy of the Companions. "I'm sorry," I whispered, cringing inwardly at the futility of it all as I opened the book. Anything to avoid looking at the fierce proud man who was radiating such anger and pain.

The invisible knife in my chest twisted in further as I read through Kodlak's dreams. Had he woken from death to find himself in Hircine's grounds? Or perhaps he had been able to glimpse Tsun and Sovngarde from a distance before the hounds of Hircine pulled him into Oblivion. He was there now, even as the words beneath the pages unfolded thoughts that had once been kept private. I kept my eyes firmly down when I arrived at Kodlak's evaluation of the Circle. Vilkas didn't need me glancing up at him and increasing his discomfort. And then I reached the entry which described my arrival in Jorrvaskr, which named me as the warrior who stood beside him against the wolf spirit in his dream.

'You left him,' I thought numbly. 'He dreamt you would help him and you ran away.' Again. No wonder he had tried to get me to stay, to listen. But I had refused and he had been too proud and too wise to insist. And now he was dead and in Oblivion, beyond my reach.

After that, it was hard to make sense of the pages that followed. Of course Kodlak had known what Aela and I had been up to. Even if he had not told me on the night that I had left, I had always felt there was little chance that such vengeance would have slipped past his notice. He might have been old, might have been suffering from a form of the rot that would have long killed anyone without the beastblood, might have chosen to engage with the bound tomes in his library than with a flesh-and-blood opponent, but he was still incredibly sharp. He had known what I was when I had shown up, had noted my propensity for shadows and stealth. He'd had a subtle sense of humour about it too, I thought sadly. Kodlak's way of letting me know was to toss a volume entitled "Three Thieves" into my lap one night when I was perusing his map. I had flushed, he had chuckled quietly and that had been the end of it.

The last two entries were the hardest to take in. Apparently Aela had continued on without me, and Kodlak feared that what we had both started would end in a counterstroke because of our lack of control. "In that he was right. Aela and I were wrong" I said quietly, closing up the journal and fastening the catch on its cover. "But I am no Harbinger, that much is clear." He had written of his regret, of his confidence that I would return. He had believed in his dream until the bitter end. In my absence though, the hunt for a cure had continued and he had found it at last, in Falkreath. It was the coven of witches that Terrfyg had first approached. "What did Kodlak mean by poetic justice for the witches?"

"I was supposed to leave on the day that Ulfric attacked. Kodlak had tasked me with hunting the Glemoril Coven down. I needed... I need to bring their heads back with me so that we can take the first step in undoing centuries of impurity."

"You and Farkas still want the cure."

I had seen priests handle the altars of their gods with less reverence than Vilkas showed when he took the journal back and slipped it into the drawer. "Yes, but more importantly, we can still help Kodlak."

For a moment, I was sure grief had addled his mind. "Vilkas, he's—"

"Dead and in Hircine's hunting grounds. I know," he interrupted sharply. "But Kodlak used to speak of a way to cleanse his soul, even in death," he continued, his voice taking on a fervency I had never heard before. "There are legends about the tomb of Ysgramor, legends that perhaps you don't know but which hold the key to helping Kodlak into Sovngarde."

I was beginning to realise what it was that Vilkas might want of me. Since he obviously agreed that I could never be the Harbinger, there could only be one other possibility. "I thought the tomb was sealed."

"We need the shards of Wuuthrad back. Eorlund's the greatest smith Skyrim has seen in a hundred years, maybe more. And we have the Skyforge to help us reforge the battleaxe. That will open the tomb. This is the last thing that we can do for him." The hope that lit up Vilkas' bruised and ravaged face was more than I could bear. It made the deep black pit that was starting to open up in my belly widen further.

"You want me to help?" I felt like seven kinds of fools for asking that as I stalled desperately, trying not to give an answer I knew I had to. 'But I am sure even without Athis, the rest of the Companions would able to—"

"You were the one that Kodlak dreamed of," Vilkas said simply. "Perhaps you weren't meant to stand with him in life, but in death. I will explain to the others, if you worry about them objecting."

'That's...that is not what I'm thinking of at the moment." Beneath the warm leather I could feel coolness break out on my forearms, at the back of my neck. It signalled panic. Within seconds, Vilkas caught its scent. Silver eyes narrowed. "I can't help you, Vilkas."

The deathly silence that followed was even more chilling than the furious roar I had been anticipating. "I'm a wanted woman in Falkreath and the Imperials are sending reinforcements to Whiterun so that they can secure my capture, possibly arrange for my execution, the moment I leave the city. Having me around will not help the Companions in any way, it might be an impediment."

I had been the recipient of some piercingly scornful glares but none had ever made me truly feel as small and worthless as Vilkas' did. "You would be with us, under our protection."

Now for the most important reason of all. "I need to get to High Hrothgar. It's a matter of great urgency."

"It cannot wait?"

"It cannot."

"Not even if it means repaying your debt to Kodlak and repairing your honour?"

It was far too risky, far too many leagues between here and Falkreath and all the way to the bitterly cold north of Winterhold. We were too close to the Throat of the World to turn back. There were too many parties actively hunting me now. A single person might have been able to slip in and out of the borders. But a large group of famous warriors that I was affiliated with and if I were seen leaving with them... I doubted Elenwen had any scruples about trying to arrest the Companions if she suspected for one moment that they could be squeezed for information. "No." There was nothing more I could say that Vilkas would care for, nothing else he would accept.

"Then you have none!"

He moved with startling speed, actually meant to strike me but at the last minute settled for grabbing the wrought metal tray on the end table and sending it crashing into the wall across from us. It fell to the floor with a ringing clatter, warped from the force brought to bear on it. "Have you no shame?" Vilkas raged as he advanced on me as I rounded the bottom of the bed, trying to back away in that narrow space. "I can understand, even bring myself to accept your reasons for saving the Jarl over Kodlak but this...this...You..."

The howl of fury that burst from him made all the hair on my neck stand and my scalp prickle. Then Vilkas slammed his gauntlet-clad fist into the wall. Once, twice. The stone actually cracked.

"Vilkas?"

A violent shiver ripped through him as he smashed both hands flat against the wall, fingers splayed out as he clawed at it. He was breathing like a blown horse, panting and gulping with almost feverish speed.

"Vilkas!" Then his eyes met mine, wide and panicked, and my heart stilled in that second. His irises were a thick dark yellow, the pupils abnormally round; the black shone like ebony. Just like the swirls of darkness gathering at his feet and writhing up his body. Then he screamed and I heard the familiar awful cracking of bones as he doubled up.

There was no time to think. I simply reacted, vaulting across the bed before slamming myself against the door, smashing it open as I skidded on the smooth floor and began to run. Behind me came a thunderously loud, bloodcurdling shriek that brought Tilma and Ria out of the room at the far end.

"Get out!" I screamed, pouring on all the speed I could muster. I had barely made it past the twins' quarters when the ground beneath my feet started to shake. I had only ever experienced that with mammoths and dragons. When the werewolf roared again, I felt the blast of its hot breath right through the cowl. It would be on me within seconds. Ahead, Ria came to her senses, snapping out of her shock before she pushed Tilma back into the room and slammed the door shut.

"_FEIM!"_

A scant second later and my brains would have been on the floor.

I saw the talons as they passed through me, as long as daggers, wicked dark curves that would have pierced my armour and flesh like a hot blade through butter. But it was the leathery grey hand that shocked me; it was at least thrice the size of my face.

There was no way to outrun the monstrous wolf that Vilkas had turned into. So I dug in my heels, let the huge black beast barrel through my form and just in time, for my flesh had began to solidify once more, the ethereal glow of the Shout fading. The Daedric blade came out with a ringing snap, its jagged scarlet edges and veins pulsing with life, as though it sensed the blood of a magical beast nearby. All of the training that Brynjolf, Astrid and Gabriella had ever given me came to the fore now, kept me alert and moving, calculating the length of the werewolf's reach, taking the measure of those great fur covered limbs as I retreated backwards. It turned, slowly, making a mockery of my drawn weapon, as though daring me to attack. Then it rose on its hind legs.

'Aedra and Daedra.' It was all I could do to contain my oath. The wolf towered above me; its head looked to be half the size of a dragon's, the tips of its ears bending as they brushed the highest point of the arched ceiling above. When it spread out its arms, it seemed to block the entire passageway. It made Farkas and Sinding in their werewolf forms look like newborn pups. Then it showed me its fangs, stretching its cavernous jaws wide, slaver dripping from its jowls. I'd only seen larger on a dragon.

"We meet again, Dragonborn."

I knew that voice all too well. Why did the parts of the past that ought to stay in the past never do just that?

"Hircine," I bit out tersely, acknowledging the Daedric Prince whom I had defied. Perhaps using the word "vile" on him might have been a little strong. Now was not the time to rethink my choice of words though. "What have you done with Vilkas?"

"I've freed him. His denial of my call and blessing, of his true nature was a sacrilege not to be long tolerated."

"You've possessed him, you mean. This is not what Vilkas wanted."

"On the contrary, the mortal called on me. Just for a moment, he felt the beastblood and he did not resist. I simply accepted the invitation." The werewolf took a step forward; I had to take two steps back. I was midway down the hall now, and if this kept up, I would find myself caught between an impenetrable wall and a Daedric lord who had made it perfectly clear I was prey.

"That's just an excuse," I hissed. "It cannot be the only reason why you are here. There is no Hunt, you don't have your hounds with you—"

It was the smile, all teeth and genuine amusement that cut me off. "Don't I?" he asked almost gently. A sickening knot clenched in my gut. Lydia and Alduin were upstairs with Aela, Farkas and Sinding.

"Not anymore."

If not for the werewolf between us, I would have thrown myself into his arms and probably kissed him as well. "He's taken over Vilkas' body," I called out.

"Lord Alduin." Black fur stiffened, rose in a visible ridge down that huge back as Hircine raised his hackles, stepping to the side so that he could keep an eye on both of us. "There is your answer Dragonborn. This is the reason why I have come." He flexed his claws and I realised the swing of that huge tail had increased, fanning out in high, wide arcs. "For what better, worthier prey can there be than a god of dragons?"

Then he lunged.

_"FUS ROH DAH!"_

Hircine roared, throwing his arms up to shield himself from the fury of Alduin's Thu'um. Then he tumbled backwards, struggling to dig his feet and hands into the ground as he fought for purchase. It was what I had been waiting for.

_ "WULD NAH KEST!"_

The surroundings shrank to ribbons of light that seemed to surge past me; it was as though I was flying over the ground. A great paw swiped out for my ankles and missed as I soared past. Twisting, I skidded to a stop, let the side of my body take the brunt of the jolt as I stumbled against the wall. Then Alduin was there, grasping my arm as we bolted up the stairway and into the mead hall.

"My Thane!"

It was a sight to behold, Lydia standing guard over three unconscious Companions whom she had, for want of a better word, hog-tied. "Lydia?" Like Alduin, she was unharmed.

"The doors will not open!" She pushed savagely at one, rattling it so violently I was surprised it didn't come off on its hinges. "We had to knock them unconscious. They were...changing...against their wills and Sinding said to do it..."

An angry growl that reverberated through the air stopped her short. "Talos preserve us," she whispered, horror dawning on her face as she spotted the huge beast that was beginning to make its way up the stairs.

"We need to move them," I snapped, grabbing hold of Aela. Together, we managed to haul them to the end of the hallway and inside Vignar's room. "Stay here with them. If they stir, knock them out. No arguments." I held up a hand, stopping her protest before it could leave her mouth.

"What is that thing?" Lydia's face was paler than usual, the only sign of her fear as she watched the hulking werewolf clear the stairs and move down the shallow steps leading to the banqueting table.

"That's Hircine, Daedric Prince of the Hunt and all werebeasts. This is why you can't let them wake up."

"Can you both stop him?"

Alduin had already planted himself at the bottom of the steps just beyond the room. "We'll try," I promised her grimly before moving to take my place next to him. "Alduin—"

"You do not want me to kill him."

No, I did not. But this was a fight I dared not lose. If Hircine struck Alduin a fatal blow, I would perish too along with Lydia and gods alone knew what Hircine, drunk with victory and bloodlust, would do with a city full of people and three lycanthropes. And even if it wasn't so... My answer lay bitter on my tongue. "Not if sparing him means your death."

"I have no intention of perishing this day," Alduin said calmly. Neither of us dared risk a glance at the other, but I felt the solid brush of his arm against mine. "Trust me Freyja."

"It would greatly help my faith in your abilities if you drew your sword. Werebeasts are much more vulnerable to silver and Daedric weapons. You happen to be wielding a Nightingale blade, a weapon gifted to her chosen by Nocturnal."

From across the hall, Hircine glared at us, stalking back and forth. The only sound he made was the deep rasp of every breath he drew. Then he dropped down on all fours.

"On my command Freyja."

"What?" Automatically I assumed a defensive stance, blade held before me. It aided in my focus, helped to silence a part of me buried deep down inside that was shaking with fear.

"Give me fire."

"I don't think that will stop him."

"No, it will not."

I knew that contrary to how it might seem, Alduin had not lost his mind. But at that moment, Hircine leapt forward with breath-taking speed and a roar that made my ears ring. It seemed as though the very foundations of Jorrvaskr were shaking.

"Now!" Alduin shouted.

_ "YOL TOOR SHUL!"_

Flame hotter than even the fires of the Skyforge blanketed the air. And as I predicted, the massive werewolf simply leapt agilely to the side to avoid the rush of fire, never faltering even for a second as it bore down on us.

_"YOL DIIV VUND!"_

My jaw dropped as the wave of fire swung back, swung right as it dived straight towards Hircine, cutting him off. The burning hearth fluttered before dying out entirely, giving up its fire to the brilliant streak, as did the sconces. Then the body of the flame began to expand, to ripple, to take shape. Scales formed, shimmering, iridescent; in the semi-darkness the glow could only be described as fierce. There was a second roar, an echo and an answer to Alduin's Thu'um as a horned head emerged. A long fiery tail spun in fluid circles, lashed again and again as the wingless shining dragon drove the Daedric Prince back, jaws snapping. Hircine roared as he struck at the darting dragon only to be burned, claws tearing uselessly through fire that sheared right through the thick fur and blistered his flesh. It was like trying to fight a storm's lightning. And all the while, the dragon continued to grow and grow, coiling and uncoiling its great length, an undulating floating river of fire that kept Hircine at bay.

"It will not last forever." Alduin's words tore me away from the wondrous sight. "Now for the second part."

"And that would be?"

"Possibly saving your friend." A very faint smile grazed his lips. "I am going to teach you a Shout."


	47. Chapter 47

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man...

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Okay, I happily removed my other document without saving the A/N. In any case, after that awful bout of No Writing Land, I think I have emerged and the words are certainly not playing hide-and-seek any longer. I wrote another chapter, got through half of it and then felt it would be better off as the latter half of this one. The story flows better this way, so I have decided to amend this chapter. And now that I have a nice length going, I can reply to everyone who reviewed the initial version of this. Just some notes about lore. I am basing my work here on the book "The Posting of the Hunt". The Shout is "SIL VAAZ KREN" which means Soul Break Shatter. As for all the bleeding of various types of beings, well, I made that up but tried to make some differences and make clear why there were differences. Some shout outs to The Hobbit and ASOIAF; I hope you find them. :)_

_Guest: Thank you! It's good to know you enjoyed it. I was wondering if I'd lost my words and my touch so your review was incredibly reassuring. SingularMonk: Ulp, one more cliffhanger coming up but it's a good one, I promise. Winter'sSentinel: Thank you so much! It was comforting to hear that. I hope you enjoy this updated version as much. SunsetWanderer: Thank you for the amazing review! And for going into detail about what you liked and what I'm doing right so I can keep doing it. I hope this keeps you satisfied until the next update. NushiKasai:*Lol* Did you really wake up everyone? And you are not stupid, please. I should have written that down as part of the lore notes but I was exhausted. Basically, it's what Hermaeus Mora does to teach the DB a Shout (no need for Word Walls) and the usual rush of knowledge that is needed to unlock the Shout which the DB gets usually from a dragon soul. I don't have a playlist, just what strikes my mood. Who does Freyja look like? There's a picture I have and I can PM you the image if you have an account here. If not, I'll hunt down the link and post it next time. FloodFeSteR: Well, I'm thanking God too. :) I was truly freaked out for awhile about the word draught. LuciferLovesMehh: *Blush* Well, it's not perfect but thank you for your praise. It makes me work harder to get things that much better. Nargus: Yes he did, he taught them to her. This updated version will make that clearer. Midwinter Sun: I want to thank you so much for the sensible and level-headed review you left me. Truly, it made me sit back and take stock of the kind of pressure I sometimes put on myself and made me look at what I had forgotten. I found myself going back to the game to look at Jorrvaskr and you know what? I never realised they had weapons on display on the pillars and beams just beyond the staircase! I kept what you said in mind and ran with it the next time I started writing. And I had fun. You gave me exactly what I needed to hear. Ny'Kle: Thank you, and that makes two of us. :) SneakyDevil: Well, things just got more intense. Silhouette92: I won't, no worries. I dream about finishing this story. Thank you for your kind words. As for "relaxation"..hmm...that might have to wait, given what's coming. IkiteIsAlive: Update here and ready to be served. Just don't expect a conclusion to the fight just yet. LissaRegan6: *L* I feel your enthusiasm and most definitely thank you for it. It makes me very happy to know that you've enjoyed it so much and are going to be around til the end. Thank you for reading and your wonderful review._

**DRAGONREND **

**XLVII.**

This was not the time to do an imitation of a salmon out of water, not with what looked like nine feet and more of furious, roaring Daedric Prince in the shape of Nirn's largest werewolf ever less than half a mead hall away with a fire dragon hot on his trail, no pun intended.

Still, I couldn't help myself. "You just offered to save Vilkas." Alduin nodded, arching one aristocratic brow. Even at a time like this, he had the ability to make me feel marginally less intelligent. Apparently centuries of lording over every other being in Nirn that ever existed—and probably some of the Aedra and Daedra, knowing him—had gifted him with that ability. Without really trying, Alduin could make Elenwen look humble by comparison. "And you're going to teach me a Shout."

"Now is not the time to become hard of hearing, Freyja."

There were so many things tumbling to the forefront of my lips that I didn't know what to say. Would a 'thank you' suffice? 'I like you' was another statement wrestling its way forward. 'How did we get here?' and 'How will this end?' could not be answered now, or perhaps for the longest time. The dragon rose on its great coils, towering over the werewolf that it had cornered before Hircine leapt nimbly through a tight spacing created by the loops of its body. My breath caught before that enormous tail, ridged with shiny scales and spikes lashed out and drove him back before he came at us. In the savage rise and fall of darkness and light, I looked at Alduin and saw the ghost of what he had been and truly was. A great dragon rising with black wings unfurled to swallow the world. What does a Shout change, truly?

"Who are you?" I asked the question so softly that the sounds of the nearby battle all but muted it. Still, he read my lips. Golden eyes gleamed so hotly I felt it like a brand. He stepped forward, grasped the front of my cloak where it met just above my clavicle and tugged me forward so that I was flush against him. His mouth was drawn back in partial snarl as he bared his teeth at me and I had the feeling that if not for Lydia, Hircine and the looming life and death struggle, he might have bitten me before throwing me to the ground and Nine help me, I would have let him.

He brought his face down to mine. And like a hawk entranced by a lure, I couldn't look away. "I am your god." The words washed over me like a wave, slammed into my gut and for a moment, I thought my knees were going to buckle. How does one argue with a statement like that? It was both a claim and also an offer and I couldn't deny either. I hungered for them with an intensity that frightened me. There was never going to be a backdoor out from this, only a road whose end I was determined to shape.

I swallowed hard, felt the rasp of my tongue against the very dry roof of my mouth. "You were saying something about a Shout?" I muttered, hoping the heat I felt burning on my cheeks had at least something to do with the fire dragon that was leaving scorch marks on the wood and stone of Jorrvaskr. At least it wasn't setting the place on fire. I couldn't quite say the same for Hircine though. The air was thick with magic and the stink of singed fur and flesh. Against the dark pelt and grey skin, scarlet burns stood out in sharp relief. Vilkas, if we all lived through this, was going to be in for a world of pain when he came to himself. I doubted he was going to eschew any offers of a healing spell, which was his usual custom.

Alduin opened his mouth but the bestial howl that almost shattered my eardrums had nothing to do with him. It felt like I had stepped into the heart of a raging storm, the raw thick thunder of it rising and rising even though I jammed leather-clad knuckles against my numbed ears. 'Gods above,' I swore as the world dimmed in spite of the burning flames of dragon fire. Faint howls rose and fell, cut the air with their wild song as Hircine's wolves answered him and I felt a terrible chill swarm down my spine. This was Oblivion rising to touch Nirn. Alduin was not the only god here. Hircine stood in a ring of fire, wreathed in a pale floating mist as the dragon hissed and lunged, unable to advance against the barrier as he continued to roar, every formidable sinew and muscle in that inhumanly large form rippling, claws splayed in a deadly show of might as he called down an ancient power I could scarcely begin to comprehend.

Darkness swirled from the feet of the Lord of the Hunt, bubbling like smoke from enchanted brew, thickening like gathering clouds. Out of this stepped three werewolves, broad snouts raised to the air, fangs bared, shining with an ethereal glow like fallen stars. "My Harbingers," Hircine rumbled and the wolves answered him as one.

Then they leapt on the dragon. Two went for its head, the other was thrown against the wall by a fiery thrashing tail. Teeth sank in, claws fell like swords. Scales of fire rained like tears from the dragon's hide. From the midst of the battling combatants, Hircine stalked, each step a slow taunt. "This is my ground. These are my people." He looked at us and there was something in that feverish intense glare that was reminiscent of Eola and the lot that I had slain in Reachcliff Cave.

"I'm going to enjoy feasting on your hearts."

Again, fear poured through me and I had to grit my teeth, dig my toes into the bottoms of my boots as I stood my ground. The hairs on my skin prickled painfully beneath my armour; there was magic at play here that sought to terrify.

Alduin drew his sword then and the sight of it steadied me further. I had to protect him, and I would do so with my last breath.

_I like you._

He had stolen my words and more. I touched the amulet; its worn green and gold surface was warm beneath my fingertips. The prayer I sent up to Talos was for both of us. A second prayer to Nocturnal and Azura was to remind them of the eternal indignity they would suffer if their champion were to perish at Hircine's hands. I remembered Sithis' offer and decided that was best left alone. There was enough darkness here as it was.

"If you believe that, then you are more of a fool than you have already made of yourself." Alduin's smile was as sharp as the blade he wielded. Then he stepped directly in front of me, so tall that I couldn't see Hircine at all.

I had a mere moment to feel surprised indignation and alarm. Then, what began as a verbal protest ended in a soft, strangled gasp as I hunched over, catching myself against Alduin's back, fingers sliding down the grooves of his armour. He was saying something to Hircine, but we might have been worlds apart for all that we were standing right next to each other.

A deep hum filled my ears, a low rich chorus that I knew intimately, closer than blood, deeper than bone. Light brighter than all the morning suns I had ever watched filled my eyes and the world seemed to fall away beneath my feet as I sank into the seas of a life lived before mine.

_The black dragon flew overhead, blanketing the earth in shadow. His eyes were flame, his wings a hurricane, his teeth and claws a storm of swords. He rent the world from the east to the west, from the dying sun to the nascent moon. He roared and took the souls of men, ripped them out, shattered them and turned them to shining dust. I was caught in the blast, ensnared in a whirlwind that clung to my skin and tore at my hair, that pummelled me mightily so that I was bruised beneath my armour. _

_ He came closer and it was all I could do to stand before him. He was death and he was life, living legend in immortal flesh. Then he breathed on me and I was on my knees. _

_ "Dovahkiin," he rumbled and raised his wing. With his talons, he reached inside me and carved the Thu'um on my soul._

_ I screamed._

* * *

><p>"Freyja!"<p>

Something, someone was shaking my shoulders, lifting me up and I realised that I was slumped against Lydia.

"Freyja!"

I just needed a moment for the world to stop turning on whatever the gods had seen fit to hang it on, a moment to find my limbs and collect whatever remaining pieces of myself that remained scattered by the experience Alduin had just put me through. Sky Haven Temple. It was that last night in Sky Haven Temple all over again.

I realised my moment was over when I felt the sharp sting of Lydia's hand against my cheek. "Gods damn it, open your eyes my Thane!"

It was sort of incongruous to address me by my title after slapping me. But I couldn't tell that to her, not after she jammed the mouth of a bottle between my lips and I choked on a mouthful of Stamina potion. Some of it went down my throat while the rest spilled over my chin and slid under the rim of my collar. Coughing, I tried to push her away but she was having none of it.

"That's it, fight me," she said calmly as she continued to force-feed me, the steady strength in her firm hands holding me still in spite of my weak flailing. "It's time to wake up."

I could feel it again, the heat of the fire that Alduin had breathed life into, the tremors that ran through the floors of Jorrvaskr. Hircine, like a nightmare from the bowels of Oblivion. Alduin...

Blindly, I grasped for my sword with one hand while the other clung to Lydia's shoulder as I pulled myself up, swallowing the last of the liquid that was spreading itself in waves of cold through my body, the icy tingling melting away fatigue.

"Your sword." Lydia pushed it into my hands, pulled me to my feet, a protective arm still over my shoulder. I realised we were inside Vignar's room. "Can you—?"

"Can I fight?" I finished her sentence grimly. There wasn't an inch of me that didn't hurt and my hand was wrapped so tightly around the hilt of my sword to stop the fine trembling that shook the rest of my person. I wondered how much of it was due to any injuries that Alduin had sustained. "I have to."

Limping just outside the doorway, I saw him. The battered fire dragon that seemed to be visibly shrinking was doing its best to protect him from Hircine while he fought the spectral werewolves. Two remained, then there was one as Alduin dodged a slash that would have opened him—and me by default—from chest to groin and whipped his sword through the wolf's neck. Perhaps another blade might have gotten caught, but this was Nocturnal's sword, perhaps forged in the Ebonmere by the Mistress herself. It was a talon that struck and would not fail. The wolf's head rolled, the huge body teetered before crashing to the ground and crumbling into nothingness.

The remaining wolf leapt, only to be snatched up mid-air by the dragon's tail and slammed against the floor. It shrieked in pain but managed to catch the jaws of the dragon just as the latter went in for the kill.

And that left Alduin to face Hircine alone. They circled each other warily. Hircine, I realised, was bleeding.

Lydia had come to join me. In her hands, she held her bow and the quiver strapped to her back was filled with steel arrows. For a moment I wished she had lacked the usual Nordic aversion to magic; Chillrend was the sole exception she made because it had been a gift from me at a time when I had risen somewhat higher in her estimate. Daedric arrows would have been most useful, even Elven ones but Lydia had blanched when I had suggested those. "Cover us. Aim for the wolf, not Hircine."

Anyone else would have questioned me. Lydia simply nodded before nocking an arrow to her bow. She had been gifted with a fine arm and true sight; I had seen Lydia split an opponent's arrow from nock to tip twice during friendly matches with the guards. With the exception of Aela and Niruin, I had not seen a better archer.

"My Thane?" She spoke just as I took a step down. "Your husband said to instruct you that you were not to die. Or else, he would be most unhappy and there would be a world to pay for it."

"Oh he did, did he?" I muttered, hefting the blade in my hand. My arm felt steadier, marginally and I cast a fast healing spell that I hoped would help.

"I second his command."

"I'm not going to die Lydia." I hoped a lie wasn't the last thing I said to her as I edged forward cautiously, circling around behind Hircine who had been about to make a move before deciding against it upon my entrance into the fray. Alduin didn't even look at me. Instead, he snarled at Hircine in the Dragon Tongue with a tone so scathing that I half-wished I had learned the language.

Then Hircine did the one thing I was hoping he would not. He called Alduin by name. I was so glad that my back was to Lydia, because right after that, Hircine pivoted and within the space that it took for me to draw half a breath, he lunged for me.

For the second time that day I found myself on the ground, my head ringing from having been smacked against the stone floor, the coppery taste of blood in my mouth. All that lay between Hircine and me was a brightly flashing ward and my swiftly dissipating levels of magicka as I poured everything I had into the shield. He pushed and his claws started to come through; I could have sworn my eyelashes brushed the tips as I blinked.

Which meant that his back was towards Alduin. Perfect.

_"SIL VAAZ!"_

It was fitting that the Thu'um was the colour of blood. Hircine screamed as it threw him off me and out from that monstrous body burst three souls. Vilkas writhed in agony, his eyes wild and wide as they met mine. Next to him, an enormous wolf struggled to its feet, its hackles raised as it began creeping forward before breaking into a run. Diving for my sword, I snatched it up and swung it with both hands. Jaws with a strength that would put steel traps to shame snapped on the blade, clamping down as I tried to twist it free. The wolf rose on its hind legs, trying to plant its paws on me and use its greater weight to bring me down as I fought back.

That was when the arrows began singing out. Two struck the wolf's neck and shoulder, a third missed as the beast sprang back. And thus I had my first glimpse of Hircine wielding a three-pronged spear to meet the Nightingale blade. They clashed and I felt the blow rattle the bones in my arms.

We were obviously going to need all the help we could get. Dark magic flowed down my forearm to gather in my clenched fist before I flicked it out, sending it to spill on the floor as translucent bright light. "Lucien, get Hircine!" I shouted as I rushed the wolf. If I could just free Vilkas from the wolf spirit, it would free him from Hircine. Perhaps that would stop the Daedric Prince. Perhaps it wouldn't. Then there wasn't any more time to second-guess myself as the wolf rose up to meet me.

* * *

><p>A goblet rolled across the stone floor only to be crushed like paper beneath Hircine's boot. "Run, little Hare," he mocked as Alduin ducked beneath a whirling blow. "The chase will be sweeter for it." The blades came close enough that he felt their whisper as they passed over his head reverberate through his helmet and for once, he was thankful for it.<p>

There was always a sensation of being crippled in this mortal form and never before had Alduin felt it so keenly. It was a hidden knife in his side that he could not quite ignore in spite of the fact that he knew he needed every ounce of concentration to defeat this aspect of Hircine. Fury boiled in his veins. A mere aspect had him fighting for his life, he who had laid waste to mountains and consumed worlds. He had lived for more than a millennia and not once had the Daedric Princes dared molest him or his kind. How low he had fallen. If this had truly been Hircine as he was, all would have been lost by now. Alduin was no fool, he knew that well but the knowledge did little to aid him, for it was a kind of bitter mercy.

Once more, the spear arced down with terrifying speed. Grasping the hilt of the Nightingale blade with both hands, he swung it upward. There was a horrendous screech of enchanted metal sliding on metal as Hircine pressed down, pushed back while Alduin fought to turn the spear aside. His jaw ached as he clenched it, hoped his fingers which seemed to be rapidly turning numb would not betray him and slip on the blade. Respite came in the form of two arrows from Lydia that struck Hircine squarely behind the shoulder blades. They bounced off the god's scaled bronze hide, so very reminiscent of dragon skin, and while Alduin wished briefly that they had buried themselves in the former's infernal back, he settled for the distraction they provided. The foremost prong of the spear struck the ground, gouging the stone and Alduin leapt back.

There was a glimpse of Freyja as she rolled to her feet, sword caught in the teeth of a wolf that almost dwarfed her. Then he had to see to his own safety as he turned and ran. In the open, that spear put him at an immense disadvantage and Hircine was too quick to let Alduin slip in under his range. But there were places in the mead hall that he could put to good use; a great many pillars lay just beyond the staircase that led down to the lower level where he had found Hircine and Freyja. He just hoped Hircine would not bring down the whole of Jorrvaskr on them.

"Did you think that separating my aspect from my wolf would do you any good?"

Grasping the edge of what remained of the great banqueting table, Alduin vaulted over it, sent the rest of the platters and dishes crashing down onto the cooling hearth where the fire dragon lay as it squirmed weakly in the last throes of the life he had given it. The wolf was nowhere to be seen. His feet had barely landed on the grating when the table behind him split wide with an almighty crack. Hircine had missed by a hair's breadth.

"I need no body to remain here. I am more than a mere spirit."

He had expected and feared as much. As he sprinted for the steps, Alduin felt Oblivion magic pulsing within the walls. Little wonder then that Lydia could not open the doors. That there were no guards beating on them either made Alduin wonder just how thoroughly Hircine had sealed the place. Instinct that was more than human screamed. He threw himself forward, propelled in part by the blow that ripped across the back of his armour and flowered a ragged gash across it from side to side. It took some of his skin with it. The sting in his flesh burned and Alduin gasped in pain as his forearms took the impact of the edges of the steps and he rolled desperately. His throat still burned in the aftermath of the Thu'um and there was nothing he could do to save himself. His back hit the doors; he raised his sword to defend against the blow that he knew was coming even as a feeling of doom closed in over him.

Hircine lifted his spear to his shoulder and drew back his arm. "I cannot be banished."

Then a lithe white figure dropped out of the gloom from above like a bolt of lightning and buried twin daggers into the sides of Hircine's neck. "Hail Sithis!" it spat.

The Huntsman bellowed in rage as red spurted from the wounds. His head swung from side to side and the ghostly assassin dropped low to avoid those enormous antlers, digging new handholds into Hircine's back with his spectral blades. "My name," he laughed joyously over the slick wet sounds as he stabbed away, "is Lucien Lachance." When enormous hands reached back for him, he dropped to the ground, sliding past grasping fingers like rain. The twin slashes that he made to the backs of the god's knees would have brought low any mortal or man. He caught the tail end of a savage kick from Hircine, skidded along the floor before leaping to his feet, apparently unwinded. "And you will know the wrath of Sithis." White lips turned crimson as they kissed the blade. "The Dread Father sends his regards."

When Hircine looked back towards Alduin, all he could see was the shining steel of the Nightingale blade before it was plunged through his face.

* * *

><p>'Why,' I thought as I tried not to pay attention to the fact that the wolf had teeth longer than my fingers, 'did I ever think these would be the size of regular wolves?' On its hind legs, the wolf was taller than me by two heads and it probably weighed more than a full-grown male elk. It had knocked me over with frightening ease and would have torn out my throat if not for the Elven dagger I had plunged into its own. My armour bore the gouge marks its claws had made.<p>

Lydia had let loose another arrow that buried itself in the hind leg of the wolf before disappearing into Vignar's room, presumably to bludgeon the bound Companions back into unconsciousness. Even with six arrows in it, one of which had gone clean through its head so that I was now confronted with an animal with an arrowhead and a nock sticking out from either end of its skull, the wolf spirit was not dead.

'What does it take to kill one of these?' I remembered thinking that precise same thing as I dragged Silus down the mountain with me as we fled from the Dremora. Then a dragon showed up and the Dremora had run at it, screaming that they were honouring their lord by destroying it. It had been one of those very few times when I had ever been thankful to see a dragon.

The wolf crouched, tail low and stiff, its bright blue and white eyes fixed on me. And then it suddenly vanished.

"What—"

I realised that Vilkas' spirit had disappeared as well. The magic of Alduin's Thu'um had faded. On the floor, a grey form was slowly rising. The eyes had changed colour, but their expression was still the same, one of rabid rage. The werewolf might have been smaller, but it was still pretty damned large.

'I'm sorry Vilkas.' As long as I didn't say the last Word, he would live. I wasn't sure what it would do to his spirit or body though. Alduin had taken no prisoners in his time. The memory of Vilkas' face, a vivid study in agony, floated up before me.

_"SIL!"_

The first Word spoke to the souls. I could see them with my own eyes, the glistening forms of both wolf and man, twined so closely together, a grotesque parody of siblings in the same womb.

_ "VAAZ!"_

The breath was hot as it poured from me, the air shining as the Thu'um rippled through it and struck home. It buffeted the wolf, tossed it the way a giant would a man. Power that even an Oblivion spawned creature could not resist all but sundered the unity of soul and body as the latter gave up its ghosts and vomited them out, naked and stunned on the ground.

Twin wails of agony pierced the air as I ran, then leaped. There was a distinct crack and I felt something give beneath my boots when I landed on the wolf and rammed my sword through its neck. The end of the blade hit the floor and the stone gave. The same shining white substance that smeared the arrow and slash wounds of the wolf, made whiter still by the red cloud of energy that the sword siphoned for me, sprayed down the front of my armour, caught the edges of the cowl as it splattered on my face. It had an almost metallic taste to it, like blood, only far sharper and richer. Its fur felt as real as the fur of any wolf I had ever slain, brushing against the exposed skin of my left hand as I ripped open its belly with the Elven blade. Sticky warmth flooded my hand; I smelled smoke laced with a bittersweet tang.

The wolf howled, the sound strangled and distorted through the blade in its throat, great jaws snapping futilely as it tried to thrash free. Then it screamed again as a third blade fell, a trail of cold following it down as Lydia thrust Chillrend right through its heart. Its body seized, and the great wracking contortion that shook the wolf made me spill down its side even though I clung to the Daedric blade. It made a sound like the wind keening through the trees on a starless, moonless night, a sound that told you that the night was dark and full of terrors for which you had no names. And then it was no more.

'Vilkas...' Several feet away, he lay utterly still on the ground, flat on his back and bare as the day he had been born. His chest rose and fell gently and I breathed in deeply, allowed myself one moment to savour the fact that he was alive.

"My Thane." It was the horror in Lydia's voice that roused me. Grasping the arm she offered, I pulled myself to my feet and ignored the burn that ran through me, that made me aware of every aching muscle in my body that demanded rest. "Hircine, he's..." She pushed me, turned me around.

He had taken a sword through the head. The problem was that he was still standing. Even his grip on that spear, the colour of bleached bones and new snow, had not lessened. Against all my hopes, he was still here. Taking his avatar from him had done nothing.

Quickly, Alduin tore the Nightingale blade free. Red dripped down its smoky burnished surface, left a trail that followed him as he backed away, keeping the large wooden pillar between him and the Huntsman. Lucien, whom I noted was keeping his distance, looked somewhat intrigued.

'He can't be killed.' Lydia's indrawn breath made me realise I had spoken that aloud.

"My arrows could not pierce him. I tried, my Thane."

The sword of Nocturnal had though. The weeping gashes in Hircine's back and legs were Lucien's handiwork, Lucien who was Sithis' servant. Perhaps my blade, forged with a Daedric heart, would pierce him as well. 'Some good that will do.'

"See to Vilkas. Get him into the room with the rest." It would make no difference if we couldn't defeat Hircine. Or perhaps he would be contented with his dragon trophies. By that time, I wouldn't be in a position to care about what happened to the Companions or Whiterun. I had fought dragons and monsters, had battled the servants of gods, had danced with the Dread Father and lived to tell no one of it.

I was not made for this. And the one who could save us all, I had made a man.

In the hall, deep shadows swallowed all. The beautiful gold and red mats, the tables, the benches... all of it lay in scorched, heaping ruins. Smoke coiled up slowly, pale imitations of half-formed dragons, thin and fragile. 'Everything is ruined.' And we were trapped, here in Jorrvaskr which Hircine had named his hunting grounds.

"Freyja?"

I wanted to say something to Lydia, to tell her I would make it all right, that I had a plan, that something would happen. But the words died in my mouth because I didn't believe them. I wanted to, I just couldn't. 'I can't remember what I was going to say.' My thoughts were dissolving, slipping from me like breeze through a child's fingers.

Hircine twirled his spear through the gloom. The prongs glimmered, like a cruel crown of teeth. I had seen one such before. Perhaps. Maybe. I frowned. Suddenly I didn't know.

'In a dream.' There was no night that could compare with his eyes. In his voice was another world. 'Young dragon, in a dream.' Hircine caught me with his gaze and I looked right back.

Then something did happen.

The first whistling trill was high and clear, yet soft as new cobwebs spun in the night to glisten at dawn. It pierced the darkness like a stream of sunlight. Something I could not see dropped from me, slithered from my shoulders, neck and arms. A second note sounded, yet higher still, unfurled like spring.

_"For the Huntsman has unleashed his hounds, and the Hare now leaps to flight. No light now to end this night. Yet in the darkness, within this route, both hunter and prey must fear, the sweet kiss of the bitter spear."_

Rich and mellow, the song floated down from above and I found I could see in the shadows again. That was where I found him, perched nimbly on a beam like the Nightingale he was. He was armed with the bow I had left behind, a quiver full of Daedric arrows and the same smile which I and every woman he had ever met remembered.

"Bryn," I whispered.

"Hello, lass."

Then he fired a shot that slashed through the stillness which had descended. The barb pierced mottled skin, sank in several inches until it hit the bone of Hircine's wrist. Unfortunately, he didn't drop the spear. And it made him angry. His roar went right to the rooftop.

"What do you say to a bit of old fashioned daylight robbery?"

All the things we had said and never said were still there of course. But here and now, we slipped back together like two peas in a pod. He was the teacher and I, the protégé again. "Let's get that spear."


	48. Chapter 48

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man...

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Oh my goodness. Finally, finally, finally. I am sorry for the long delay-it has been four months almost to the date-but it just couldn't be helped. Work is best described as a flood and by the time I arrive washed up at home, writing is the last thing that I want to do on most days. And it didn't help that for the longest time, I felt that I had written myself into a corner because I was having trouble with perspectives and the fight itself. I don't know how good this is, I've tried my best, but I am just so grateful some progress has been made. I'm not going to be able to address individual reviews because then the author's notes might exceed the chapter itself. But please know that I am very grateful to every single one of you who reviewed; this, more than almost anything else, has always given me the impetus and motivation to stay the course. Thank you all for your understanding and patience in spite of the alarmingly long break. You guys rock._

**DRAGONREND**

**XLVIII.**

It was rage, more than anything that made Hircine roar. Beneath the golden death mask he wore, made from his very first kill in this lesser form, he felt the hotness of his breath, the grinding of sharpened teeth that others would call fangs. He heard the whisper of a laugh, saw the shadows flit in a way too fluid even for darkness. 'Nocturnal,' he snarled inwardly and bellowed more, turning her name into a curse, a challenge. Before the sound of his anger, even the dragons clothed in human flesh quailed. Though the Nightingale perched on the beam above, he kept his eyes on them, his prizes, for he could see them as they truly were.

Behind and above the man stood the soul of the great dragon that even he had not seriously considered hunting until now. It bared its teeth when the man did, those great wings stretched out, claws curved and ready to strike as they mirrored the movements of his arms and sword. A great tail lashed back and forth in the shadows. They only reminded Hircine of weakness though, and of how he had to reduce himself so that these would be honourable kills. 'And kills they will be,' he thought as he reached over and tore the barbed arrow from his flesh, ignoring the blood so deep and dark it was almost black as it ran from the wound. The Dragonborn stood her ground as he turned his gaze to her although he could see wariness and alarm written in every line of her stance. If only she could see herself as he saw her, burning white with wings lined in gold, an echo, and a manifestation of the Blood of Akatosh in her veins. Upon her neck shone a star whose dusky light would blind him if he looked too deeply into it.

A second arrow whistled through the air and this one he caught without even having to see. "Subtle tricks," he spoke, his voice a low rumble within the confines of the walls. Waving the arrow gently before his face, he caught the scent of briar heart, gleamblossom, netch jelly and several other ingredients that he was familiar with. He had never used them before though. A true hunter stalked his prey with skill; he overpowered him with brute strength or with cunning, but not like this. "But what else could one expect from an agent of the Dark Lady?" The arrow wound tingled, and that second arrow itself had come closer than he had intended. Nocturnal's weapons had teeth after all, the frost and shock magic working themselves inside the muscles of this aspect to slow it down. On some level, the paralytic poison was taking effect.

But it was not enough, not even by half. With breath-taking speed, Hircine spun and threw the arrow. It flew like a dart and pierced the translucent shoulder of Sithis' servant, who had been creeping sideways, edging closer. The force of it drove him into the pillar, the arrow sinking more than three inches within the sturdy ancient oak. "Blood pays for blood," he taunted as the ghost snarled and wriggled ineffectively.

He heard the intake of breath before the white dragon lunged, gleaming fangs bared, jaws snapped wide open as the air before her turned into a churning blaze of frost. Ice crackled, grew like claws on the ground that the Thu'um passed over. This was not a power he could take so lightly and as the Shout came barrelling at him, he gathered his feet, muscles rippling before he leaped up and forward, the Spear poised in his hand as he prepared to skewer Brynjolf, the mortal whose name was known to him, and to the rest of their pantheon, from the moment he had sworn service to Nocturnal.

That was when Hircine realised it had all been a trap. The Dragonborn's roar had concealed the snap of the chain as its links were severed by a single arrow shot. There was barely breath to curse Nocturnal and her damned luck when the heavy iron chandelier, all sixteen feet of it, together with several pounds of chains, came crashing down on him in mid-air. The edge of it caught his neck, pinned him and his arms down as he slammed into stone floor with a force that would have shattered the bones of any other creature. The icicles on the ground were driven deep into his belly. As he lay there, sconces rolled across the floor, spilling out their oil like tears that had caught fire.

Voices called out in alarm, and another blast of icy breath flooded him and killed the burgeoning flames. The crystalline layers built, imprisoning him further, fusing together with the iron wedged into his flesh. Caught in a grip of cold, it was as though all the winters of the worlds had descended upon him. But through it all, he held on to the Spear.

It had been a small eternity since another had inflicted injuries on him. The only thing missing from this encounter was the Hunter's moon, a Bloodmoon. Hircine hissed, his body trembling with effort and excitement.

Slowly, he gathered his strength. Then, he began to rise.

* * *

><p>The iron chandelier was almost a foot in breadth and I didn't want to know how much it weighed. The floor upon which it and Hircine had fallen now bore a massive web of cracks and gashes. The ice, which had shattered upon the impact, had turned to fine white dust before catching the chill of Alduin's Thu'um and turning once again to snow or little particles that shone like diamonds and cracked open once they hit the ground. Hircine lay buried beneath layers of ice; he reminded me of a sabre cat I'd seen once, frozen inside the barren tundras of Winterhold. Except this hunter was far from dead. Dragon magic, Dragon Shouts had limits and I feared, here and now, that I was about to discover just what those limits were and what they would cost.<p>

From above, Brynjolf hacked a swath through the heavy crimson tapestry. Letting it unfurl, he grasped a thick fold, slid down it with a grace that made me ache because it was so familiar, and it had been so long since I had last seen him even though I had just dreamt of him that morning. I had missed him, after all, and at that moment I was as aware of it as my own breath.

A hand roughly grasped my arm, spun me around so quickly my neck snapped back. There were no words to describe the look of pure rage on Alduin's face; all I knew was that it made me afraid. Even through the Nightingale armour, I could feel the bite of his fingers. If not for the former, I would already be sporting bruises. "What are you—"

_"Lass, what are you doing here?"_

I sucked in a breath so hard that it almost choked me. For a moment Brynjolf stood in Alduin's place, his face shocked but still wreathed in gentle concern.

_The air was full of the Thu'um, hummed with power as everything slowed to a halt. Everything except Alduin, as he hurled himself into Brynjolf and I was helpless to do anything except watch them sail past me. _

_I should have kept them apart..._

"_Freyja, come here." _

_Someone was screaming. Someone was laughing._

How could a dream be so real?

And then I was wrenched back into reality, quite literally. Alduin pulled me forward, dragging me against him as he retreated and I felt the brush of hands slip from my shoulders, heard the sound of a sword being torn from its sheath. Only Chillrend had a bright, clear ring like that.

"No," I shouted, wriggling mightily so that I half-turned in Alduin's arms. Slamming my hands on top of his, I pushed down, forced the Nightingale blade back down into its sheath as much as I could. "Lydia, put away your sword!" In the near distance stood Brynjolf, who was keeping Hircine's frozen form and the rest of us in his line of sight. Unlike Lydia, I doubted Brynjolf had been around when the Daedric Prince had exposed the man who—up until that moment—had been known to Lydia only as Aldin, a Greybeard in training and my husband, as Alduin: Destroyer, Devour, Master and the one creature I was sworn to kill and who had sworn to kill me. I suppose seeing that same man grab your Thane with nothing less than naked fury on his face would galvanise someone like Lydia to move in to protect me. Thankfully, Brynjolf had sized up the situation and was helping by staying away.

"Let go of her," Lydia replied with a deadly calm that didn't deceive any of us. The moment he let me go would be the moment she moved in for a kill.

Alduin growled darkly in Dragon Tongue, his jawline pressing against the top of my head. He was holding me so tightly that I was actually having trouble breathing. "Lydia, I'm fine. Alduin, stop it."

Both of them ignored me.

I could have sworn I heard the ice crack. In confirmation of this, and with a low bloodcurdling moan, Lucien braced his feet against the beam and pushed himself forward. He tore right through the shaft, fletching and nock, dropping like a cat on his feet, his right arm limp at his side. Like the werewolves, he bled the colour of snow. Bryn eyed him warily, especially when Lucien moved closer, but backed up a pace or two as the crystalline shell which held Hircine shivered again.

This was just fantastic, I thought grimly. Hircine was going to break free at any moment and two of the most intelligent people I knew would rather squabble over possession of me. At least Lydia had my safety in mind; Alduin on the other hand was treating me like a dragon with... its gold... Oh.

_"You are mine, and mine alone. Do you understand?"_

For one moment I smelled a whiff of smoke and the startling image of myself astride Alduin and gazing down at him was as disorienting as it was alarmingly intoxicating. A shiver ripped through me and I blinked hard, pushed away at the shards of that bizarre vision and tried to focus.

I had seen dragons set their treasure hordes on fire as a last measure when they recognised that death had come for them a final time in my form and with my face. A dragon would rather destroy its possessions than let another take them. Nobody took anything from a dragon unless they killed it first. As much as I didn't like the idea of being treated like a possession, I was not about to argue with an eternity's worth of instincts, especially not since this was Alduin, who had never had anything taken away until he battled the ancient Nords. They had stolen time from him. And then there was the small matter of the theft of his rightful form at the hands of yours truly.

Well then, I knew how to solve this mess. I just had to do it quickly.

* * *

><p>He was helpless, yet again.<p>

It was enough to have borne the insult of being Sanguine's captive, to have been reduced to a plaything for his amusement. For no matter how he had worried for the Dragonborn's safety and for his own, Alduin had realised that while he would have killed the Daedric Prince of Debauchery in less than a heartbeat if the means had been his, the latter was not actually interested in his demise. And bruised pride was not a fatal wound that could not be endured, even if it could always be avenged later. That much he had learnt, had been learning ever since his ancient bones had been covered with this new flesh.

This time, it was another Prince and as Alduin backed away, a stream of blood spilling from his sword to the ground, the memory of Numinex's skull mounted on the Jarl's wall sprang to mind. He had no doubt that Hircine would do the exact same thing to his bones and to Freyja's and the notion was enough to make him want to roar at the moons and sun until they fell down. It was a rage to cover all the worlds in darkness. It was not enough to drown the doubt that was now seeping into him, as deadly as any wound. For the second time since the fight had begun, the thought came to Alduin that he would die. If not for the lithe ghost that served Sithis, he would already have.

'He cannot be killed.' And for a moment, he accepted the notion, felt the thought his own until he recognised it for the lie it was. Inside, he felt his soul roil, felt the angry gnashing of teeth, could almost hear his wings beat as he shook himself free. All things could die, even Aedra and Daedra. Even he, who was counted as neither. The insidious caress of despair that had been encircling him stopped; invisible shackles fell and Alduin saw again how thickly the air hummed with enchantments meant to bind. He saw Freyja as she stood there, her blade still and unmoving, her sword arm lowered, a netting of fine dull chains snaking their way over her shoulders as Hircine ensnared her without moving so much as a muscle.

Hircine was stealing what was rightfully his. And while a part of Alduin knew how dangerous Hircine was, how he was already anticipating an attack by the way he gripped the Spear and angled his body so that he knew exactly where Alduin was, red still clouded his vision. It was a trap, and he was about to fall for it but he knew of nothing else he could do, not with his throat still aching slightly from the last fading effects of the Thu'um.

When the first notes of the haunting trill fell and broke Hircine's spell, the relief that he felt was beyond words, as was the onslaught of panic when he realised just who the caster was. Red hair. Green eyes.

"Bryn," Freyja whispered and the sound of it pierced him.

_"Are you in love with Brynjolf?"_

_ "With Bryn? Of course not."_

He believed her. But when she had been at her most unfettered, thanks to Sanguine's meddling, she had taken the man in her arms and kissed him.

"Hello, lass."

Perhaps, to Freyja's mind, she had not been lying. But the heart was another thing altogether, full of secret places in which resided desires that even those in possession of that heart knew nothing of.

The shadow of a smile curled her mouth slightly, and her eyes were far too bright as she responded to his jest. There was grim fear when Hircine turned the arrow on the ghost. But the way it intensified when the Hunter made to attack the thief, the way she moved in tandem with the latter to bring down the chandelier that, for now, held the Huntsman together with the Thu'um...This was a burning that was eating at him in a way he had never fully known. Above all, he feared.

And so the first chance he had, he took. It pleased him, to wipe from her face the quiet wistfulness that rattled him to his core, to shake her roughly, to remind her whom she belonged to. She flinched and he knew he was holding her with too much force but it would take more than that for him to release her. Clear blue eyes stared up at him, glazed with shock and somewhat dazed. She inhaled sharply, and suddenly he had the feeling that Freyja was seeing something other than himself.

All that vanished as Lydia suddenly loomed in the background. How she had gotten so close without his notice, Alduin had only Freyja, his overwhelming desire to take, to keep, the terrible awareness of what little he could do now against Hircine and against a potential rival that he would not be forgiven for slaying to blame. Lydia was not the enemy, but it was a fact driven out of his mind, practically obliterated, when she reached out to pull the Dragonborn from him.

If he had had his teeth and claws, she would have been dead before her hand left Freyja's shoulder. He might have pulled down the whole building in the frenzy that beset him. But he did not, and it was a mercy in itself. Freyja's words were nothing more than wind, they made little sense and he paid them no heed. She might have stopped him from drawing his sword in time, but he had now recovered and the Thu'um was once more his to command.

He just did not expect Freyja to beat him to it.

_"FUS!"_

The Shout missed Lydia completely; it had been aimed to land inches from her feet. Even so, the force of the Word staggered her, kicked up a cloud of dust, scattered the dented plates and broken stone fragments into the far corners. "I'm serious Lydia. I order you not to harm him." The death grip she had kept on his hand relaxed, as did her whole person. She leaned into him before tucking her head beneath his chin.

"My Thane..."

Lydia looked stricken, but Alduin could not care less. After fighting and straining to get free of him, Freyja was... 'Submitting.' She was surrendering. That she was doing this in the presence of others... It was startling to say the least. It also immediately quietened the maelstrom of his mind, and he became aware that he was practically crushing her into himself. At once, he stopped. The red that had clouded his vision receded. Colours came back.

"He won't hurt me. He won't. Trust me." He had assumed that she was addressing only her housecarl, when Freyja tipped back her head and lifted a hand to his face. "Trust me. Please trust me."

Sharp cracking sounded in the distance. He looked over to see a fine tracery of lines spreading over blue white ice.

"You are mine, and mine alone."

So she remembered yet did not know it. It took everything he had to pull himself together and still he felt his eyes flare wide as she spoke the very same words she had used to claim him in Sanguine's realm, words she had spoken when the Dovah inside had taken over. There had been none of the tenderness she was showing now, and he felt her touch on his cheek like a brand.

"You are mine, and mine alone," she repeated. "Do you understand?"

"Do you?" Searching her face, he found what he was looking for.

"Yes."

He closed his hand over hers. There was much to be said and done when all this was over. But first..."Hircine wants to hunt dragons. And so I will give him dragons."

"What will you do?" Worry creased the corners of her eyes, drew her mouth into a tight bow.

"All that I can to save us." He leaned down, pressed their foreheads together. She was trembling. When she stilled herself, he felt pride. "Now go, and be ready."

She hesitated for a long moment before stepping away and pulling Lydia with her into the gloom. The thief and the ghost had disappeared as well.

Drawing out the Nightingale blade, Alduin walked forward, circling until he was several feet away from the quivering mass of ice, making sure that he was behind Hircine. The cracks had grown deeper; they reached almost all the way into the heart where the Prince lay entombed. He needed to be close enough not to miss, yet far enough to stay out of the sweeping range of the Spear.

This had to work. If it did not— With grim effort, he pushed aside all thoughts of his immortal soul and what would happen to it if this body should fail.

Then, he waited.


	49. Chapter 49

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man...

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Oh gosh. Finally, the big fight is done and I can get this show on the road, literally and figuratively. I'm completely exhausted, but I credit Zute in part with this sudden flood of words, for she is updating "We Know" again! All the rest was just sitting down and forcing myself to finish this big fight. No more big fights, not until the Throat of the World. And speaking of which, yes, they are getting there, and in some ways, it all ends once they get there. And that is all I want to say about that. So please pardon me for being close lipped about that big climax. _

_I've done some proofreading but this is a huge chapter and I'm sure I missed a couple of things. I will come back and do some clean-up. The interpretation for the Shout has been worked into the story itself; just look out for it. Two shout-outs for Avengers and ASOIAF in this one. And now for replies._

_ChaosEmperorNex: Thanks! Although sometimes I have to squeeze the Muse until she's blue in the face and feed her Loki pictures for ages before she gets creative. Guest: Love the ovaries exploded line! I hope the end of the fight did the earlier parts of it justice. Reikat: Well, thank the Muse this time I took about...two weeks? Seriously, I am glad though. I do feel guilty when it takes a long time before I get a chapter out. AuroraNova: Yes, you were right and I took your advice. I watched movies, read books, wrote some random crack fic in the meantime and guess what, it finally happened. Guest: Well, the path of true love never did run smooth. You'll know what I mean when you get to the end. :) Goodbye0Bluesky: Thank you for your patience and kind words! Writing action is always a tough one, and it's great to know it makes sense to readers. I'm so glad I could get this next chapter out sooner. Empire1003: Hmm, I get where you are coming from. If this were an actual novel, I would have to find some way to fix the past and present switches. If it makes it easier, only Freyja's POV is in the first person. Everyone else is third person. But thank you, for sticking with the story thus far. TheMajesticMrL: Yes, Alduin and Paarthurnax confrontation will come soon. Please just wait for it. I already have the scene planned out in my head. Adamatineangel: Thank you and thank you! I hope the Brynjolf/Freyja interaction goes down just as well. Shannon: Thank you! It's always a nice angle to explore, given you have two natures in one body. SorugaoBandGeek: Well, I hope I managed to wriggle my way out of that corner in an acceptable fashion. Thanks for all the encouragement! Rasgnarok: Yes, they will get there, and sooner than you think. I won't be abandoning this story; it's been a wonderful learning platform and I have lovely reviewers who keep me on track. Thank you for sticking with this story through the years. :) SneakyDevil: Well, I aim to tease. :P Lissaregan6: Aw, thank you for being so sweet. I think it was time and completely warranted for Alduin's jealousy to kick into high gear. And I love GOT as well! Waiting for it is not fun at all. I make do with DVDs and reruns to get by, and the books as well. DreamingofBlue: Thank you! That's lovely of you to say so. I hope this latest chapter brings you as much reading pleasure. LilithiaRW: I know you do. I think most of us ladies do enjoy some possessiveness, some. At the right time. And I will stay the course for this, promise. Digitalhell12: Thanks and I hope you like this chapter too. CordovanLily: Well, I don't think Alduin could actually use that Thu'um even as a dragon because he lacks understanding of mortality. Besides, if he wanted to turn Freyja into a dragon, he would need a different Word, I believe. And be my guest, go ahead and draw them as dragons. Guest: Not clingy at all! Please. I need to hear things like this, and you worded it so courteously and in an encouraging fashion. And I am so glad to have heard from you, as a long time follower of this story. You guys have a special place in my heart because it has been 3 years after all. MurmursintheDark: Thank you for asking about my work! It's as hectic as always, but I have a slight breathing space now. I just need to find the energy to keep writing because it is tiring. Kewpies: Thank you for making an account because of this story! Ragez: Thanks! HikaruWinter: Well, I love a good tease and I guess it shows elsewhere. :) Polar: Here's the next chapter! I hope you still like it. Chocoluv99: I hope the rest of the chapters kept you entertained. Zute: Zute, I'm so glad you are writing again! It really kicked my Muse in her arse and she got going. I know you love Vilkas and I will spoil the chapter right now. He lived. Chewie: Thank you so much. I really did try to up my writing levels with this story and I'm glad it seems I am doing that. TheGodsOnlyNow: I did do something with Hearthfire, but as a standalone fic. It would just be too massive and wouldn't fit in with Dragonrend as a story. You can check it out, only if you want to though._

**DRAGONREND**

**XLIX.**

What would you do to save the person you loved?

It was a question that plagued me even as I left his side. I would have stayed, but Alduin clearly had a plan. And I had to have faith, even if I was frightened. Beneath the leather and my shirt I felt a thin line of pain, the crust of a shallow wound that broke with each move I made. He bled, and so did I.

The shadows engulfed us, swallowing the dull gleam of Lydia's steel armour and the white frost of Chillrend. Karliah had once told me that the phrase "Shadows guide you" meant that the Nightingales who had gone before would literally place their hands over mine, to lead me through every step. It seemed that now they were here, using darkness to show me the way. I shivered; for a moment, the atmosphere reminded me of the moment in Nightingale Hall, when I had first experienced the Dark Lady's presence. Nocturnal, in some form or another, was here. After all, she had clearly sent Bryn.

"Is he...truly—?"

"Yes."

I took my eyes from the god whom I might have done anything for except give him what he truly wanted, and turned to face my loyal housecarl. She would have done anything for me too, for she had given me her oath. "I'm sorry Lydia. But he would never hurt me." Here and now, I truly believed every word. "And I would not let him harm you either."

Some of the tension left her face but Lydia still wore her mask of stoicism like a shield. In the silence, broken but for the sharp splintering of ice that was growing rapidly, I could practically hear her thinking. "I will explain everything when this is over. For now, trust him. Trust me."

"I do trust you, my Thane. That does not mean that I am not worried for you. Now what is it that we needs must be ready for?"

If not for the fact that we were facing down a Daedric Prince, I might have smiled. Whatever happened, no one could ever accuse Lydia of not being ready for a fight, even one that she might lose. "I don't know. But my guess is that he's going to use a Shout."

She gave me a look then and I was close enough to see it. It went through my armour, right into the heart of me and I knew that in that moment, she had grasped the same thing which had begun gnawing at the back of my mind since before Whiterun and which I had been choosing to ignore.

"These Shouts that he has been using, you don't know them. Just how many does Alduin have?"

_"You do not even know our Tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah!"_

At that time, I had been distracted by the horrifying possibility of having to fight both dragons—never mind that Esbern and Delphine were with me—and mesmerised by the way fire was made flesh and how that flesh clothed the roaring skeleton. The truth of what he said, which for so long I had missed because of the scathing taunt it was wrapped in, was finally dawning on me. I had always assumed the Word Walls held enough, that those Shouts would suffice, that devouring centuries of deep meditation, experience and instinctual understanding would somehow be enough. Whatever else I knew that did not come from a Wall, I had taken from the Greybeards who had graciously acquiesced to a request motivated more by curiosity and a vague idea of what might come in useful for the future. Never once had I picked up the volumes on Dovahzul that Arngeir had provided. Instead, I had left them in High Hrothgar.

Now, Alduin was showing me just how little I knew, just how much he could do because he knew the language. Because he saw this world through the Dragon Tongue in ways that I had yet to imagine. A dragon could speak things into existence. Force, fire, burning stars that fell from raging skies. Life. Death.

"Right now, all we need is the right one." I looked down, felt the heft of my sword in my hand and knew that Lydia had heard me loud and clear all the same.

He knew far too many, lifetimes more. If it came down to physical combat alone, I had no doubt that I would take him. After all, Astrid of the Dark Brotherhood had put me through my paces and she was still the finest combatant I had ever seen. But in a fight, the Thu'um made all the difference. As the Dragonborn, it was something I knew too well.

When it finally happened, the breaking ice sounded like a swarm of ice wraiths snapping those vicious translucent teeth, with the cold hissing from their bony spines.

Blue shards flecked with dark blood crashed against Lydia's raised shield.

Hircine burst out like a roaring storm.

And Alduin answered.

_"PAAR LAS NOK!"_

* * *

><p>The ice trembled at his touch, at his push as he fought to rise and break it. Cold burned him like fire and fed his will. Grinding his teeth, Hircine fought for freedom and tasted it on the blood in his mouth.<p>

And how sweet it was when it came. The sudden loosing of bonds, the rush of lightness as the weight lifted. The rippling sting that ran through his limbs, the sudden influx of air into the starved lungs of this aspect. Just as death flavoured life, so nothing made freedom as wonderful as captivity.

All around the ice rained down at his feet in a scattered white ruin. Dragon spells, Hircine decided, were strong but the cage to hold him had yet to be built and today was not that day. Snarling his triumph, he turned, the Bitter Spear leaping to life in his hand. One dragon was hiding in the shadows which his eyes had trouble piercing. But the other was standing, foolishly and arrogantly, behind him.

The Thu'um caught him like a full-bodied blow. It staggered him, pushed him off balance and Hircine slammed the butt of the Spear into the ground. The corners of the hall twisted violently, bending in on themselves. Shadows swelled like the incoming tides of a black sea. Alduin vanished under a wave. And just as it seemed that it would swallow him as well, it suddenly stopped and the world righted itself.

The hush that followed was as clear as a spring day, as deep as the moment before one plunges down over a waterfall, a mountainside, or the edge of a world. Hircine stood perfectly still, senses on high alert for the breath of a sound, the tiniest movement. It was then the scent hit him and his mouth watered. Beneath the mask his pupils dilated and only an eternity of control and discipline kept his breathing measured.

He smelled dragons. Yes, and rightfully so for he was hunting them. They had come, here to his sacred halls, his hunting grounds. The First and the Last. His wolves lay strewn across the charred stone floors and he recalled the fire dragon that Alduin had birthed. The Dragonborn too had proven herself worthy by slaying them. For that, he would give their heads a place of honour in his trophy room.

But first, these pesky shadows would have to go. At his silent command, blue fire sprang up in the great hearths. It lit the walls, the great bronzed pillars etched with portraits of every Wild Hunt that had ever been. It drove the darkness back into the high corners of the ceiling where it remained in a shape that was oddly reminiscent of bird wings. And there she was, in all her pale glory. The white dragon. She snarled and snapped, her tail poised in mid-air like a striking serpent. There was no room for her to fly, for he had driven her within these walls. But her wings tipped with ivory claws were still deadly enough to serve her well on the ground.

Cautiously, Hircine approached. A tremor ran through the ground. Hot breath billowed like desert winds. From behind came Alduin. Then the black dragon opened his jaws and Hircine saw the glow of dragon fire as it lit Alduin's throat from within.

If he ran, he would be burned. So instead, he attacked. Hefting the Spear over his shoulder, he threw it straight at the dragon's mouth. It flew like a bolt of lightning and struck home, the triple blades piercing the roof of that great maw.

In unison, the dragons screamed.

* * *

><p>From the shadows Alduin watched as Hircine fought to regain his balance. The bright golden flash of the Thu'um had long dissipated, but its magic was just beginning to work.<p>

Hircine lusted for dragons and so dragons he would have. The Words dug deep into the recesses of his mind, drawing out the greatest Wild Hunt that Hircine had long ever dreamed of but never dared put into action. The Thu'um would give life to the lie, to Hircine's ambition that knew no bounds. It would blind him. 'Hunt dragons indeed.' Alduin curled his lip contemptuously. 'I will show him what it means to hunt us.'

He stayed perfectly still as he watched Hircine scent the air, scan the surroundings and almost started when he felt the whisper of a soft mocking laugh as the Hunter's eyes passed over him. Even if she were not a Daedra, Alduin would have deeply resented Nocturnal all the same for the claim she laid on Freyja. To have to accept her help was...galling to say the least. Mistress of Shadow, Freyja had called her. The Dark Lady and patron of the thieves of Skyrim.

Suddenly, blue fire erupted over the walls of Jorrvaskr. High above, Brynjolf backed away against the nearest beam for cover. The shadows curled and fluttered like bird wings, beating against the light but having to retreat nonetheless. That left Freyja completely exposed.

Lydia made to move in front of her but Freyja held her back. Instead, she slowly moved forward, then sideways, leading Hircine away from her housecarl. 'He doesn't see Lydia at all,' Alduin realised. And from the way he moved, the angle of his neck as he watched her, from the way he looked right over her head, it was clear that to Hircine, it was not a human he was stalking. It was a dragon.

Alduin deliberately let the tip of the Nightingale blade drag along the floor, striking up faint sparks as he stepped closer to the middle of the hall. The burn at the back of his throat reminded him that it was not in his ability to summon another Thu'um yet. Still, he had not lost the ability to roar like a dragon although Freyja had yet to find hers.

When Hircine threw the Spear, he had been expecting it but the speed with which he moved was breath-taking and terrible. If his aim had not been off, the force of the blow might have broken his mortal flesh in two. As it was, Alduin had to throw himself out of the way to entirely avoid the Spear and even then he felt it clip his pauldron, knocking him backwards in a violent spin that ended with him hitting the ground hard. If not for the helmet, he might have been cracked his skull. There was blood in his mouth as he fought to get to his feet. From the corner of his eye he saw the Bitter Spear. It had smote the low bench, cleaving it in two before piercing the low stonewall behind.

Arrows were singing overhead. The first two checked Hircine's rushing charge. The Thu'um brought him to a halt.

_"KRII LUN AUS!"_

Then everyone was on Hircine. Sithis' servant darted out of nowhere and leapt atop Hircine's back once more, daggers raised. When Hircine made to rip him off, Freyja and Lydia were there, hacking and slashing. Blood ran, Lydia warded off a blow that sent her to her knees, claws raked down the front of Freyja's armour as she stabbed at Hircine with both sword and dagger, and Alduin could hear her snarl even from that distance. It was a fight that would only buy him a few minutes.

Wrapping both hands around the haft of the Spear, he pulled with all his strength. As though to mock him, nothing happened. Narrowing his eyes, Alduin tried again.

"Don't—"

Instinctively he lashed out only to have Brynjolf block his punch. "I was about to ask if you've a Shout to get that out," the thief said dryly as Alduin shrugged off his hand. "Or we could continue trying to do this the old fashioned way."

Glaring at the thief, who personified all the reasons why he ought to upgrade his despising of Nocturnal to genuine hatred, Alduin decided to let Brynjolf live, in the interest of the greater good, namely his and Freyja's. "Shut up and make yourself useful," he growled.

"You might want to take your own advice there," Brynjolf muttered before both of them began tugging on the Spear with all their strength. Muscles strained, feet slipped on the floor and both of them ended up on either side of the Spear, one leg braced against the wall, their mouths thinned into grimaces. Just when Alduin feared the worst, the accursed weapon popped out of the stone and he and Brynjolf ended up on their arses on the ground.

Snatching up the Spear, and ignoring the thief, Alduin grasped it with both hands and took aim. There would only be one chance.

"Freyja, Lydia! Get out of the way!" Brynjolf hollered.

Hircine knew what they were about. As Lydia dove for her Thane, a massive hand followed in her wake. Freyja wrapped an arm around her housecarl's back and Shouted once more, bathing the Prince in another blast of violet light. When she slashed at him, he was close enough for the sword to bite right down to the bone. He screamed, drew back, and in that moment, he stood alone.

_"WULD NAH KEST!"_

It was a speed nothing could match, not even the aspect of a Prince. Alduin drove the Spear through Hircine's heart, felt the Hunter's ribs fold like paper beneath the might of his own weapon. The three prongs burst out his back, the force of the blow splattering the blood as far away as the doors to Vignar's room.

Hircine swayed on his feet as he staggered to a halt. Then he wrapped a massive hand on the haft. With great effort, he lifted the other and placed it on the Spear as well. In the background, Lucien hissed. Brynjolf nocked an arrow to his bow. Freyja and Lydia raised their swords once more.

"It is over," Alduin said quietly, staring into the glowing eyes visible beneath the slits in Hircine's helm. "Go back to Oblivion."

The last thing he expected was for Hircine to laugh. It was a low wet sound that sent a chill crawling up his spine. "Well played, my lord. Well played indeed. I will remember this..." Red and black light swarmed at the Prince's feet, then rose like a fiery cocoon. "For a long, long time..."

Then, he was gone.

And Freyja, Freyja was in his arms and he wrapped her against him, both of them bathed in the gleaming light of a healing spell.

* * *

><p>Alduin mumbled something unintelligible as I smoothed back his black hair. How soft it was, thick and fine.<p>

"Freyja, are you listening?" He opened one eye momentarily before shutting it once more as I pressed my fingers against his scalp.

"Yes, absolutely."

"No going back to that den of wolves."

"Mmmhmm." He groaned softly as I rubbed his temple with my thumb.

"If you touch Brynjolf, he dies."

I stifled a sigh. "We'll see about that."

"I mean it," Alduin insisted. Or at least that was what his somewhat garbled sentence sounded like.

"Go to sleep." I dropped my voice to the lowest, most soothing tone and octave I could achieve as I combed my fingers through his hair, letting the tips slide over his scalp again and again. By the time I started massaging his neck, Alduin had collapsed into a peaceful slumber. I looked at the empty bottle of Black-Briar mead and tried not to feel too guilty about the five drops of Sleeping Tree Sap that I had added to it. As if it would make me feel better, I pulled the furs over him.

After the battle with Hircine, Jorrvaskr had looked pretty much like a battlefield but Alduin wouldn't even let me stay to speak to any of the Companions. He tolerated Lydia's proximity but when Brynjolf had approached he had actually growled and drawn back his lips to show his teeth. Brynjolf had probably thought that I had married a jealous maniac, if he hadn't already figured out who Alduin was. Alduin, on the other hand, was already showing, what was for him, a remarkable amount of restraint. In the end, I let Alduin bundle me out of the hall of the Companions and back to Breezehome. One bath and a bottle of drugged mead later, and I was a free woman.

The first thing I did was to take Alduin's armour and mine for repairs. Again. "Don't ask," I sighed deeply as I presented both sets to Adrianne. To her credit, she didn't.

"I can have them ready on the morrow."

"I have until tonight."

She tilted her head and wiped the back of her hand against a slightly smudged cheek. "Alright then. I'll take care of these first. They might not be as well repaired though."

"I'd be grateful for any help you could give. Thank you, Adrianne."

When I got back to the house, there was warm stew in the pot above the hearth and Lydia was just coming down the steps, her wet hair slicked back.

Silently, she got two bowls and I filled them. I was on my third bite when she finally spoke. "Would you like to tell me what happened?"

Swallowing the soft onions and carrots, I licked my lips and exhaled. "In all honesty, I still don't know. But I found a Shout..."

A bowl of stew became two bowls. By the time I was done giving Lydia the shortest version possible, the scant remains at the bottom had congealed. The fire crackled as Lydia reached out and fed it another split log.

Then she took a deep breath, gave her head a little shake and somehow I knew that she had made her peace with the strange tale of events that I had just relayed. "I think, if anyone could help, it would be the Greybeards. So you must get to the Throat of the World at once."

"Wait a minute. I must get to the Throat of the World at once? Is that your way of telling me that you're not coming along? I thought..."

Lydia smiled wistfully. "I wish I could be there. If anything I could stand beside you, whatever the end might be." Her gaze caught mine and the quiet sympathy in them tore at my self-control. I dropped my gaze, measured the weight of the bowl cradled in my hands. "But since Vilkas has challenged your sense of honour, I will go in with the Companions in your stead to retrieve the shards of Ysgramor's axe, and to free Kodlak Whitemane's soul."

"Lydia—"

"I am your sword and shield," she cut in, leaning forward in her seat. "This is what it means. You cannot try to keep me in Whiterun out of fear for my life."

"I was going to thank you. I still fear for your life, but that is what happens when you care for someone. It is not a reflection on you. You survived Hircine's aspect today. Few can boast of such."

She looked taken aback and I could hardly blame her. Apart from the initial trip to High Hrothgar to answer that first summons, she had never been allowed anywhere with me. "I will relay this to Vilkas." I got to my feet and she stood as well. "And in return for my easy acquiescence, I need you to guard my husband. He'll sleep well into the early evening. I'll be back from Jorrvaskr by then."

"Whoever heard of guarding dragons?" Lydia quipped wryly. "And where's the other one?"

"I'm sure Brynjolf's around somewhere."

"He certainly is."

Lydia spun, sword already half-drawn but it was more from the shock of hearing a voice coming from the empty seats of the table at the far right of the room. An apple lifted itself from the bowl and the air shimmered like parting water as Brynjolf materialised.

"Why you—"

"Sneak thief?" Brynjolf winked at Lydia. "By the way, you have a lovely singing voice. It's a pity you use it only when bathing."

I grabbed Lydia before she could attempt to eviscerate Brynjolf. As if sensing her distress, Meeko came flying down the stairs from her bedroom. "Meeko, down!" I roared and the war hound promptly froze in his tracks. "Brynjolf, out! Now."

He laughed. But at least he did as he was told.

...

"Oh come now, lass. It was just a joke!"

I ignored Brynjolf as I stomped my way past the half burnt Gildergreen and turned to take the steps on my right. Apart from the Imperial troops that insisted on shadowing me, and the Whiterun guards who were in turn, shadowing them, everything seemed as normal as could be for a city that had just made it through a major battle. Nobody stopped to ask me about strange howling from Jorrvaskr and for that I gave thanks to Talos, Nocturnal and Azura.

"I saved you the trouble of having to relay that tale twice now, didn't I?"

Well yes, he had. And I had fully intended to tell him anyway, if only because it was Bryn, and old habits died hard and if there was one person whom I could trust in Skyrim, it would be him. But for now, he was a right pain in the arse for the little prank he had pulled on Lydia, who was still fuming in embarrassed outrage.

"Freyja..."

It wasn't right for a man to have a voice like fine aged wine and silk and smoke, and call a woman by her name like that. Straightening my spine, I placed a hand on the door of Jorrvaskr and smiled sweetly at him. "I'm sorry Brynjolf, I've got important things to do. We'll speak another time."

He winced but had the good grace to flush and fall back as I walked in. After all, it had been the very last thing he had said to me before I left the Guild. I think he must have known that I was going. He just didn't think that I would never come back.

Everyone was there, save for Athis and Vilkas. They were literally picking up the pieces and trying to clear up the hall. It was unnerving to have them all stop and stare at me. Njada looked thoroughly sullen but at least this time, she didn't rail at me.

"What do you need, dear?"

I turned to see Tilma coming up from my right, her arms full of goblets and broken plate. Immediately Brynjolf went to help her; he was a scoundrel and a thief but also as much a gentleman. The warmth in her expression made me want to weep. I was forgiven. "Where's Vilkas?"

"Downstairs, in his quarters. He might be awake now." She laid a hand on my arm. "They won't thank you yet; too much has happened that they need to make sense of. But you'd be welcome back here anytime, I know it."

I meant to thank her but had to swallow the lump in my throat. So instead I offered a smile that I hoped wasn't as shaky as it felt and made my way down the living quarters. Thankfully, Brynjolf didn't follow. Instead, Tilma had commandeered him and he willingly went with her.

Going down the hallway, I felt the hair on my neck and arms rise as a recollection of that monstrous werewolf floated to mind. But I kept my feet moving until I was standing outside Vilkas' door. Hesitantly, I knocked. Once. Twice. And then it opened and I saw for the first time that Vilkas' eyes were a beautiful deep shade of brown. "I need to speak with you," I said, wishing I didn't sound quite so tense or terse.

He stepped aside and I took it to mean I could come in. I ran my eye over the bookshelf stuffed with too many worn volumes and new books. I saw the half-cut apple pie and the yet untouched wedge of cheese with snowberry sauce on the side. He had been eating.

"Are you alright?"

"Please, have a seat." He indicated to the seat opposite his and waited until I took it before sitting down. "Would you like something to drink?"

"I'm fine."

There was a moment of very awkward silence before Vilkas spoke up. "As am I. It's like relaxing into a warm mug of spiced mead. I'm losing aches I didn't know I had." Then he smiled. It wasn't broad, since this was Vilkas after all, but all the same, it radiated quiet contentment. "This is how a warrior should feel, alive and aware and not clouded with thoughts of the hunt. You have my thanks."

"You're more than welcome. It was the least I could do."

"I wouldn't recommend it to the others as a way of cleansing themselves though."

Vilkas was actually making a jest! Would wonders never cease? "Do you mean Farkas and Sinding?"

"Aye, and now perhaps Aela. Ria and Tilma told her what they saw, and I've shared what I can remember as well."

That dropped the smile from my face. "How much do you remember?"

Vilkas took a deep drink from his mug before putting it down. "I remember trying to kill you. I tried to stop myself but Hircine had taken over."

"You heard everything."

"Aye, that I did. Perhaps I need to correct what I said just now about sharing what I know with Aela. I only shared what she should know." He drummed his fingers lightly on the side of his mug. "And it will stay that way. You have enough to worry about already."

It felt like a mountain had been lifted off my shoulders. "If it's all the same to you, I'll have that drink now." Vilkas nudged a bottle of mead in my direction and I scooped it up, twisting out the cork before taking a draught straight from the bottle. "And since we are on the subject of worry, I actually have one thing less to worry about. Lydia will join the Companions in my place. She spoke strongly for it and I have every reason to believe she will bring honour to herself and this quest."

Vilkas raised his thick brows and I heard his unspoken question. "She knows but she trusts me." I shot him a crooked grin. "After all, it's just the world hanging in the balance."

"Just the world indeed." Vilkas raised his cup to me. "But the gods chose you for this."

Coming from him, that was high praise indeed. It was now or never. "In that case, perhaps I could ask a favour then? I need to leave Whiterun tonight without being seen..."

For a moment I feared that I had angered him. Then Vilkas gave a rueful smile. "Aye, perhaps the Underforge will serve one last time before we seal it."

* * *

><p>The view from the rooftop of Dragonsreach was truly breathtaking. One could see for miles and miles around. Even though the war had scarred the plains, there was a wild beauty in it all.<p>

"Enjoying yourself?" Freyja asked as she dropped down beside him. Her hood was pushed back down; there was no point keeping trying to keep it up, not with the dancing wind that yanked at everything the way a naughty child's hands did.

"Indeed I am. I see Tilma passed you my note."

"You had her eating out of your hand by the time you left, didn't you?"

Brynjolf grinned unrepentantly. For a time, they sat in silence, and without moving his head, he observed her from the corner of his eye. Beneath the afternoon sun, her hair was still pale fire and gold, her skin flushed pink and she seemed not to have changed a whit. There was a dreamy look in her eye and he knew she was thinking of flying. She used to tell him she dreamt of it. So every now and then, while taking her out on heists or accompanying her on hers, they would find a high place, somewhere decent enough by dragon standards as he reckoned, and he would sit while she dreamed.

But that deadly ghost serving her told him differently, as had her fighting style. It had changed. She had gotten better, a lot better. Freyja used to say beating Mercer had been an act of luck, an act of Nocturnal meant to spite her fallen Nightingale. If Mercer and Freyja went at it again, maybe the lass wouldn't have to give all the credit to the Dark Lady. A few months ago Delvin had mentioned someone from the Dark Brotherhood coming to speak to him about restoring the disused Dawnstar Sanctuary. Brynjolf didn't mind, but while Delvin had been speaking, something sharp had tugged at his heart and gut and he knew, just knew, that somehow it had been the lass. People had reported dragons roaring in the vicinity of where the Katariah had been moored. That was the night Titus Mede II had been murdered in revenge for the massacre of the Falkreath Sanctuary...

'You should never have let her leave.' Brynjolf remembered a night, when Freyja had returned, smelling of fire and smoke, and brimming with excitement. The last thing he had expected to tumble out of her pack was Azura's Star. That night, they had raised a toast to Nocturnal and her sister. Freyja had lost her way in the mountains and as Lady Luck would have it, she had been led right to her sister's shrine. "It's the dragon blood you know. That's what they really want," Freyja had slurred over her mug as he had taken it away. "Everyone wants a dragon."

Apparently, everyone included Sithis and Alduin, now that she had married him.

"Am I forgiven now?" he asked, lifting a hand to tug gently on her braid. It was exactly the same length as it had been the first time he laid eyes on her. Some things had stayed the same.

She knew he wasn't talking only about Breezehome. He also meant for the months that had passed without a single word between them, for the coldness he had shown her to make her give up on him. For a long tense moment, he wasn't sure what her answer would be.

"Yes, and yes." Taking his hand, she gave it a hard squeeze before removing hers. "I'm glad you're here Bryn."

"As am I. Nocturnal knows you needed the help."

Freyja rolled her eyes at him. "How did you know that song?"

"By spending evening after evening hanging around Gallus like the wet-eared pup I once was."

"That must have been centuries ago," she teased and ducked the careless cuff he aimed at her head.

"Well, it paid off handsomely, since a decrepit old man like me managed to scale the roof, which really is the bottom actually, of an upturned boat in broad daylight without being seen by the three men at the Skyforge, sneak in through the skylight and make my way down in time to rescue you from no less than Hircine."

"We all have to be good for something," she drawled before dissolving into laughter.

"You impudent wench. I hope you're not holding my first failure against me."

"Your first failure?" Freyja looked truly puzzled and in that instant, he knew. So Alduin hadn't told her after all. That was completely unsurprising.

Brynjolf tapped the fat ruby of her wedding band. "I did volunteer to be your husband. But Sanguine would have none of it since you chose Alduin."

"You were at the wedding?"

It might have been comical, the way her eyes grew practically saucer-like, if it hadn't been so painful for him to watch.

"I was, lass. Sanguine caught me and presented me as your groom to be."

"You fought with Alduin."

"The man fights well enough, for a dragon turned human. Sloppy technique though."

"Oh gods. Oh my gods. It was real...all of it."

Brynjolf began to feel more than sympathy and actual alarm because Freyja turned even whiter than she was. The blood drained from her lips.

"You remembered it, lass?"

"I dreamt of it! I dreamt of... Oh no. No, no, no, no..." She buried her face in her hands and through the gaps of her fingers, he spotted an almighty red flush creeping over her skin. "I'm going to kill him!"

"I thought you couldn't." Freyja glared at him. "I mean, you did tell Lydia there was the small matter of him being hurt resulting in you being hurt."

"Well, I'll kill him after I turn him back into a dragon! That conniving...liar!"

It was a good thing they were so high up after all. Here, no one could hear her shouting. And that was the primary reason why he had chosen it.


	50. Chapter 50

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man...

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N:__ Okay, another massive chapter and I'm quite ready to collapse. If you liked this, please do review and let me know my efforts have not been in vain. Sometimes I think I have this story under control and then bam, it runs away. This chapter is a case in point and I've been working on it for more than 24 hours. _

_Sintar:Well, ever since Brynjolf used that and broke my DB's heart, hells yeah. I've been waiting for payback. Nykle: All the sweet little lies get named in this chapter. Zute: Haha, I'm so glad you approve. The worse thing was having Bryn say that all the time, and then I walk in on him and Vex in the Cistern and he is telling Vex about what an asset she is to the Guild and I'm like "%$&* you, Brynjolf." LOL. I can't marry him though, because I use a Playstation...sigh. FloodFester: In fire and blood. I'm only half-joking. Guest: Thank you very much. I hope you enjoy this one too. Argentorum: That is one of the best compliments you could give me. Seriously. Thanks so much for letting me know. Lissaregan6: Hey! It's always so lovely to hear from you. I'm glad you enjoyed that monster (in more than one way) battle. And you are totally right about that new level of hatred for Bryn. :P Eisenfaust: Thanks! And I know it took awfully long, and I'm glad you hung in there to the end. I hope you like this one too. Kirsui: Thank you and thank you for your lovely review. It's this kind of encouragement that got me thinking about writing original stories. MetaLucario:*L* Exploding ovaries has made its way into my everyday vocabulary. And there's a little more fluffy goodness in this chapter as well. Cereza671: Well, colour me super pleased and flattered. Thank you! And yes, I am going to start writing original stuff once I wrap up Dragonrend. ChaosEmperorNex: Thank you so very very much for the wonderful review. I can't believe you've read this entire thing three times! And please, feel free to emulate away with the technique bits. Cheeredinheart: Well, Freyja is mine at least. Not that I could use her anywhere else though. And I truly am very appreciative of everything you mentioned in your review. Thank you for making me feel appreciated (!). Happysnail: Mmmm...mildly abusive...I'm afraid I have to disagree although I know I am pushing the line a bit in places. As you said, he is a dragon, a naturally wild and dangerous fantastical creature. But your review did give me food for thought and I hope it shows in this chapter. Thank you for staying with the story even though you didn't agree with all of it. I hope you stay all the way until the end. LilithiaRW: Oh yes, she knows. They definitely need to have a Talk. Polar: Thanks! Here's another chapter and I hope you find it as interesting as the other chapters. JullieFord: I'll settle for 'crazy good'. I think it's great! Thanks. _

**DRAGONREND**

**L.**

"Well, can you?" He tossed the question out casually. Freyja had been wringing both hands together and probably imagining Alduin's neck between them. Pretending not to see her freeze, he drew one knee up to his chest and draped a hand over it, drawing lazy circles on the dark grained leather of his thieves' garb. The day was still bright, the sun's heat only softened by the cool wind that surrounded them. Yet it felt like the weight of the mountain that loomed in the background had settled between them. "Kill him, that is."

When the only reply Freyja gave was silence and perfect stillness, Brynjolf stretched out his other leg and worried the corner of a loose tile with the toe of his boot. "Perhaps I asked the wrong question." He nudged, the tile gave a small grating shriek of protest. "Do you want to?"

Her face hardened like a fist and for a moment he didn't recognise her. Then that other face, that other side of Freyja which perhaps had always been there and which the Dark Brotherhood had moulded and refined, went away and she seemed to deflate before his eyes.

"Oh Bryn," she rasped miserably. Her gaze was fixed on the tiny hurrying figures on the marketplace below. The wind blew out the women's' skirts like the petals of blooming flowers, made the extra flags bearing the proud horse of Whiterun curve like waves upon its currents. There were victory celebrations tonight, to mark Whiterun's victory, the Dragonborn's return and mostly the bravery of the fallen. "I'll do what I must. If it comes down to the world or him, I'll choose the world." She blinked and the tears fell. She dashed them away.

"Even though you love him." Freyja winced and Brynjolf felt more than a degree of remorse as well as the slight, strange pang of some emotion he preferred to leave unexplored. "Are you sure you can, lass?

"Are you quite finished picking at my wounds?" Her voice was so low that he had to read her lips to piece together what she was saying.

"Since when have I ever let you go on a job without checking it for weaknesses?" The tile dislodged but before it could slide down he slammed it back into place. Brynjolf ignored the shallow crack that split it down the centre.

"I am not a child, Brynjolf," she snapped. "Nor a novice thief. I have grown."

"I can see that." She bristled and Brynjolf remembered a very dusty old tome full of ancient tales that Gallus had read. Somewhere in there was a story about Tiber Septim and a red dragon that had served him loyally. "The bridle has yet to be made that could ever tame a dragon," Gallus had muttered before tossing it at him. "You've made new friends."

"Are we going to talk about this now?" She looked just as Karliah had when the topic of those twenty-five years had finally been breached—so tired that she seemed almost old. The Dunmer Nightingale who would always love Gallus had been able to tell him some things. The rest she said, were better kept for the shadows. There would always be gaps between them. "Very well, you saw that ghost. That was Lucien Lachance, once a Speaker from Cheydinhal. That was two hundred years or so ago."

"That's quite an ally to have in battle. I saw your horse, by the way. Or rather, it saw me." Freyja looked slightly alarmed and in spite of himself, Brynjolf grinned. "For a great big beast, it moves very quietly."

"He. And yes, Shadowmere moves very quietly. When was this? It couldn't have been that bad though. You did show up at Jorrvaskr in one piece."

"So much for sympathy from you. I'm beginning to see where he gets his attitude from." Freyja looked unimpressed but he sensed that she had softened slightly. "It was the day after you had won the city. In a situation like this, the city guards scrutinise people coming in more closely than Delvin would a naked Vex."

"Now that is an image I could have done without."

"Hey, it's not like you didn't read that note she left on the table for him." Brynjolf raised his eyebrows at her knowingly. In spite of herself, she smiled. "Anyway, I decide that it would be easier to sneak into the city some other way. I get off my horse, scale some of the smaller rocks and find a nice spot of wall that's low enough for me to clamber over with the help of a rope, grappling hook and some luck. I'm about to start when I get that feeling that I've already been caught. I look around for sentries and that's when I see him. Two blood red eyes in a sea of black at the foot of the spot where I had dismounted. It's only when he moves off that I realise it's a horse." In spite of the fact that it was the most light-hearted version of that event which he could summon up, Brynjolf shuddered slightly. He still wondered whether the horse had been toying with him or whether it had been sheer luck which had kept him safe.

"He might have recognised you for what you are: Nocturnal's agent." She looked like she was about to say something else, then changed her mind. "Once he sees you're with me though, he won't hurt you."

"Lass, no offence but that horse is the size of a bear. Seventeen hands if I'm not mistaken—"

"Nineteen hands, actually. And if he tolerates Alduin, he'll tolerate you. After all, I am the Listener."

She looked at him and he looked right back at her. Freyja knew that personally, he disliked killing unless it came down to revenge or survival. He fed the others the line about it being bad for business, which it was, but she knew the truth. "I had my suspicions," he said quietly, knowing he couldn't flinch because if he did, he would lose some part of her forever. "The Guild keeps its ear to the ground and when I heard about the Dark Brotherhood rising once again...it reminded me of the way you changed things for us."

"I certainly have, for more of us than I originally considered." She blinked, the moment was over; he had passed the test. "Cyrodiil has no Emperor, Skyrim has no High King and the Thalmor rule the Aldmeri Dominion." She pressed the heel of a hand against her temple, as though she would rub out the heaviness that settled over her. "Balgruuf was right. After Alduin, if I survive, I will come back to this."

He wanted to tell her that war meant little to thieves or assassins. In fact, those could prove to be very prosperous times indeed. The powerful and wealthy could reach into deep pockets to have an opponent plucked from the chessboard of political intrigue; the right information could be more precious than gold and heaps of flawless gems. But he said none of this, for it would do little to comfort her. "I'll come with you."

Her jaw dropped. "What?"

Brynjolf inclined his head towards the Throat of the World. "That means I'll go up that damned mountain with you, come down that mountain with you again and back into this bubbling cauldron of Jarls, would-be Kings, Thalmor and whatever else you have to deal with."

"Bryn—"

"I know what I am, lass. I'm a thief, a godsdamned good one but just a thief. But I won't let you go it alone again. You need a friend, someone who's in your corner, just for you."

Her eyes welled up again and he dropped his gaze momentarily as she wiped them. "You have a terrible habit of making me cry," she quipped, trying to smooth out the raw edges of her voice. "You're not responsible, you know that don't you? I had a choice, and I made it."

"I'm making one now. And don't think Nocturnal has anything to do with this either," he warned. "This is entirely my decision."

"I have no idea how to sort out any of what I've done here, Bryn."

"Well, that's definitely a place to start working forward from."

"If we weren't so high up here, I would deck you for that."

"Oh lass, excuses excuses."

"Thank you."

She slipped it in so quickly that it took him a moment to process that. He had no idea what good he would be to her, up on the mountain or here in its shadow. Still, he would try. "You're welcome. So, now that we've discussed the back-up plan, what is it that you actually have in mind for Alduin?"

She appreciated his attempt at deliberate flippancy but the ghost of a grin was the best she could conjure for him. "I think he means to offer me a new world. I want to offer him this one."

"Do you think he'll take it?"

She drew her legs up, rested her chin on her knees. It was one thing to know and another entirely to conceive of the weight that lay on those shoulders. "Ask me something I can answer."

"Can I be the one to tell him that I'm joining your travelling party?

"No."

"Perhaps I could be a passive bystander when you break the news—"

"No."

"I could listen just outside the door—"

She did try to deck him after all. But at least she laughed when she did it.

* * *

><p>In the end, I was not able to meet with Balgruuf. "He's in a meeting with the two Legates," Irileth said. "Unfortunately, he cannot be disturbed."<p>

"It's been that long a meeting?"

"Half the morning," she said with a slight grimace. "Is your business with the Jarl urgent?"

I shook my head. "He only needs to know that the Companions understand his concerns and the situation has been resolved."

"I will give the message to him."

"Thank you." I turned to go but she stepped closer.

"The Legates want Balgruuf to place you in the dungeons or confine you to your home. While more Legion troops are on their way, there is a smaller contingent that will arrive before dawn tomorrow morning. It's from Fort Neugrad."

"I thought Fort Neugrad was held by bandits?"

"That was Tullius' excuse for sending Legion troops into Whiterun. He claimed the bandits were endangering the mountain pass, which in all truth they were, and that since Helgen is now little more than ruins, Fort Neugrad would serve as a substitute."

Irileth had worked out that I meant to take the mountain pass and cut straight through to Ivarstead. With hard riding, it would take three days as opposed to the six if I had gone around the Monahven. This was a tip-off. "You have my thanks." I held out my arm and she clasped it firmly.

"Safe travels, Dragonborn."

Outside, I stopped at the top of the steps that led to and away from Dragonsreach. It was good to see the streets looking livelier. Huge long tables had been set up at the marketplace centre and a mix of guards and citizens were dragging a cartful of barrels were currently being ordered about by Hulda. One barrel slipped and several salmon, glistening silver in the sun, fell out. The children screeched in delight, Hulda simply screeched and to my mortification, Meeko darted in and made off with a fat fish before anyone could stop him. The Bannered Mare was to stay open all night until the last person collapsed from too much food and drink. The market stalls had been commandeered as temporary food stations. I could smell roasting venison and beef; Anoriath and some hired hunters were coming up the path bearing several clutches of trussed up pheasants, rabbits, three dead deer and the fattest goat I had ever seen.

"What do you need, Dragonborn?"

I turned and nodded at the guard who had approached me. "Nothing. I'm just glad to see Whiterun like this again."

"Aye, the celebration will do much to lift our spirits. And it honours our dead who have gone to Sovngarde or whatever realm it is that their race calls paradise."

"I'll drink to that."

Although the helmet obscured much of his face, I saw the corners of his eyes lift. "As will I."

He gave a slight bow and moved on. I wondered if he had lost any kin in the battle and how many friends of his had died so that the living could have this day. _I'll choose the world. _That's what I had told Brynjolf. And this, I supposed, was the best part of that world. A brave people who weathered the worst of what life gave and made the most of its best. I wondered if I would still feel that way when Alduin was gone. 'He might take the offer yet,' I consoled myself as I descended the steps. 'You must make it soon though.' If the weather was good, meaning that there were no snowstorms although the occasional ice wraith, wolf, spider and snow troll were usually a given, it would take five or six days to trek up the long winding path that led to the weather-beaten walls of High Hrothgar. 'A week. You have one week to change his mind.'

Before that though, there was the matter of his lying that we would have to work through. I felt my face redden just at the thought of it and immediately tugged my hood lower down. Bloody Void, how was I supposed to look him in the eye from now on, now that I knew what we'd done, what I had done. 'I should have burnt that stupid book,' I thought sourly as I slinked my way through the relatively empty Clouds District.

At least the talk with Brynjolf had gone better than expected. I had been so afraid that he would have judged me for the violence he generally avoided in his own life, and for the chaos of war waiting in the wings. Sithis would be pleased; perhaps that was why Gaius Marius' death, agonising as it had been, had not sufficed. An Empire riven by war might mean more souls for the Void because of the Dark Brotherhood's role. But there was nothing I could do until the matter between Alduin and I was resolved. The fact that Brynjolf would be coming with me was immeasurably comforting. Unfortunately, as most things in my life, it cut both ways and I realised that I would be spending a good number of days surrounded by males who hated each other. "What is it with me and the men in my life?" I muttered as I arrived outside my house. I was about to reach into my pouch for the keys when the door was yanked open and I came face to face with Alduin. A very furious Alduin with deliciously dishevelled hair and whose eyes were still heavy lidded with sleep. He must have woken up minutes before. So much for him sleeping into the evening. I should have poured the whole damned bottle into the mead. After all, this was the man who could consume two whole kegs of the stuff and not fall over dead. "You're awake," I pronounced brightly.

I swore there was smoke rising from his nostrils. "Get. In. Now."

Brynjolf had the right of it. I did love him. But it wasn't something I could say so easily to myself. So instead, I reminded myself that I cared very much for this man and that I wasn't going to get into a screaming match about manners and honesty. That didn't mean I was going to roll over for him. At least not like that. What I meant was in a manner of speaking. Not literally. Oh gods. My mind took a quick detour southwards and I promptly turned red. "Since you're asking so nicely," I said pointedly as I stepped inside but the furious blush had taken the wind out of my sails.

Lydia watched the both of us warily. For the first time since I'd known her, she looked unsure of herself. "Lydia, Vilkas said the Companions will leave tomorrow at noon. You'll meet them at Jorrvaskr. You might want to take the rest of the afternoon to see to any supplies or remaining matters that you need to settle before then."

Neither of us missed the way Alduin's jaw tightened at the mention of Vilkas. She didn't want to leave me. But she trusted me enough not to question my decision. "Thank you my Thane." As I watched the door close, I had little doubt that Lydia was going to get a guard to stand watch over Breezehome and summon her the moment there was any hint of a real fracas.

"You put something into my drink." The accusation came borne on the wings of the kind of calm that heralded a storm. "How dare you."

"You haven't been entirely honest with me either," I retorted. "Perhaps now would be a good time to revisit the topic of our wedding."

We stood on opposite ends of the hearth. The fire continued to burn merrily, oblivious to the tension in the room.

* * *

><p>To his fury and chagrin, Freyja did not look the slightest bit remorseful for what she had done. In fact, she was practically radiating defiance. He had killed both dragons and men for less, for far far less and no one who had ever served or known him would have even conceived of drugging him.<p>

Upon waking, it had taken him less than a minute to work out what his deceitful wife had done. A single puny bottle of mead was not enough to render him unconscious. Then there was the strange unpleasant aftertaste on his tongue that tasted nothing like mead, and the fact that his head felt as though someone had shoved several heavy rocks into it while he had been sleeping. For a moment, Alduin had been sure he was about to vomit. By sheer force of will, he kept the nausea at bay until he found a Stamina potion and downed that. Lydia had protested loudly but he had been enraged enough not to bother about his missing armour or even to take his sword. He had been about to seek out his errant wife when she had appeared on the doorstep of her abode. It had taken every ounce of willpower not to grab her; only the memory of Freyja flinching and the realisation that he had been hurting her held him back.

"I trusted you," he seethed. "You used it against me."

"Well, I guess that makes the two of us immensely suited for each other because I trusted you too. You lied to me about Brynjolf, twice might I add, and ...and about other things that happened!"

She turned an alarming shade of red, he could see that much even though she still kept the damned hood on. Her arms were folded defensively over her front and he could see her fingers digging into the leather that covered her forearms. Alduin had a good idea of what Brynjolf might have told Freyja and now he was beginning to realise just how much of that night was coming back to her. "I did not lie to you about those other things."

"You left them out! That's a lie by omission."

"And what good has the truth done you now?"

Freyja exploded. "You just don't understand. I don't think you want to understand! Fine. I tricked you, and you lied to me. We're even and we should just leave it at that."

"Where are you going?" he demanded hotly as she stalked off.

"To pack!"

He hadn't seen her this angry with him since Valthume. For long moments, he simply stood there, cursing quietly in Dragon Tongue while listening to the sounds of Freyja moving about in the room above. Closing his eyes, Alduin focused on containing his temper. Greater than his anger was his fear of losing her and he used that to rein himself in. When he felt sufficiently ready, he went upstairs.

She had both their knapsacks on the bed which was strewn with several articles of clothing. He stopped in the doorway and watched; she simply ignored him and kept rolling the shirt in her hands until it was a neat bundle. She pushed that into the bag before picking up a second item and proceeded to roll that up as well. "Are you here to help?" she said, her tone carefully neutral although he sensed she was being sarcastic.

"I did not tell you everything about that night because I knew you would feel ashamed."

Her busy hands stilled, bright blue eyes darted to his as she straightened up.

"You meant well. But it wasn't your decision to make," she said quietly.

"No. I see now that it was not."

She waited and he knew that he had to see this through. "I was also..." Alduin hesitated, struggling with pride that choked the words in his throat. "I did not want your attention drawn away by him."

"You were jealous of Brynjolf."

"Yes," he admitted stiffly, fixing his gaze on the flower-like emblem that adorned one of her buckles.

"You shouldn't be. He doesn't love me and I don't love him. Not like that."

"I do not like him near you, nonetheless."

She sighed deeply. Then she dropped the shirt and came towards him. Her hand reached out for his but he caught her instead, slipping an arm around her waist while his other hand pulled the hood away so that he could cup the back of her head as he pressed her length against him. He did not know how much time passed as they held each other, only that it was not enough. "You have to trust me," she said, her voice muffled against his neck. He felt the warmth of her breath, the light touch of her lips against his skin and shuddered slightly from the frisson of heat that tightened his belly.

"I do," he murmured.

Freyja pulled back and looked hard at him. "Then you must show it."

"Very well, I will not kill Brynjolf. Unless—"

"There's no 'unless'. I trust Brynjolf; he's a man of his word. Just like you," she added sweetly.

"That is shameless flattery right there."

"As long as it works. Promise me you'll at least be civil to Brynjolf."

Alduin rolled his eyes. "I already said I would not kill him."

"That's not quite the same."

"With regard to this matter, it is." He brushed a wayward curl from her cheek. "I am not used to tolerating circumstances that are not to my liking. It will take time. Considerable time," he added.

She thought about it for a moment, and then accepted it. "Alright then. I am sorry, for drugging your mead. I'll never do that again."

"Why did you do it?"

"Because I had to see Vilkas to settle some matters, and also because I wanted to know if he was alright. As for Brynjolf, he's my closest friend and I haven't seen him in months. And you made it amply clear that I was to do neither of these. I don't know about you but I wasn't up for another fight after Hircine."

"I do not want to fight with you."

"Then don't try to control me." He tried to move back but Freyja held him fast. "Tell me if you think I'm making a bad decision or unwise choice. Always give me your honest opinion. But don't tell me what I can or cannot do simply because you will it so. And I will do the same for you."

He grasped her by the shoulders, perplexed and stunned that she had the temerity to ask that of him, to negotiate with him.

"I will do the same for you," she repeated, covering his hand with hers, using her fingers to fill the gaps between his.

"You are the only person who has ever dared to speak to me like this."

"I figured being your wife comes with some entitlements." She tried to smile but couldn't quite cover her anxiety. Her gaze searched his.

"You ask a lot, Freyja."

"I know. But you will try, at least?"

"I will think on it."

It galled his pride, but the quiet happiness on her face was what made that all too mortal heart in his chest beat so. It soothed him, as did she as she held him to her once more. He buried his face in her hair, kissed her ear, her neck. She shivered and he became keenly aware of the bed next to them. Freyja had mentioned that after a wedding, there would be a bedding ceremony. Now was as good a time as any, he decided.

"Oh yes, there is one other thing I have to tell you—"

A hard kiss silenced her. He swallowed her soft moan, revelled in the way she curled her body closer against him. His hands went to the ties and straps of her armour.

She tore her mouth from his. "Brynjolf is coming along." The words came out in a rush and she was panting slightly. Still, he heard them with an awful ringing clarity.

"What?"

"I can explain."

He took his hands from her, listened to what she had to say. Brynjolf was concerned for her welfare. It was completely understandable. He would be of great help if they encountered any enemies or interfering Daedra. Once she was done, Alduin moved towards the doorway.

"Where are you going?" Freyja asked uncertainly.

"Downstairs so that you may pack."

"You're not going to leave?"

He sucked in a sharp breath and reminded himself that even if it killed him, he would not lose his temper with her. "No."

After that, she let him be and he went below, gathered all the mead he could find, settled himself before the fire and dreamt of new ways to kill redheaded men. It was hard to believe but he had finally found someone more detestable than Shadowmere.

* * *

><p>He had not taken part in the festivities, at least not the feasting although he had nicked a bowl of horker stew and a roasted rack of venison that had the most marvellous seasoning. With a sigh of satisfaction, Brynjolf sipped from a bottle of Honningbrew Mead. Sneaking into the barracks where the Imperial soldiers were staying had been child's play. Those on shift the night before had been fast asleep and no one had seen him empty sachets of an innocuous looking white powder into the kegs of mead and water barrels.<p>

Which was why less than a third of the Imperial soldiers were manning the walls and carrying out patrols. The other two thirds were all too busy squatting over their chamber pots and perching themselves in the latrines of the public houses.

Above him, Masser and Secunda rode high in the sky, the paler sister in the shadow of the red one. They gleamed more brightly now, ever since he had pledged himself to Nocturnal. If he concentrated hard enough, he could feel a gentle pull from them, could feel them as they ebbed and flowed over the course of the night.

There were only a few citizens left at the feast. Most had stumbled back home, those with children had left even earlier, and somewhere in between, Freyja had disappeared back into Breezehome without him noticing. He blamed it partly on that attractive redhead who had been fending off an overly amorous bard by finally emptying a tankard over his head. People had cheered and some had clapped. The offended bard eventually recovered and tried his luck with a lithesome pale blond lass who eventually revealed that she had a very mean right hook.

"Come on Brenuin, let's get you over to this bench."

Below him, a priest was leading the resident beggar to one of the benches surrounding the Gildergreen. The Redguard groaned, muttered something unintelligible and proceeded to snore. Even from up here, in the very highest branches of the tree where the flowers and leaves that had survived the fire still grew in lush abundance, Brynjolf could smell the faint stench of unwashed clothing and mead.

By the time another hour was up, the celebrations were completely over. There were several people slumped over the tables, fast asleep. Waiting until the two patrolling soldiers crossed each other beneath the tree and disappeared down their respective paths, he began to climb down deftly, dropping gracefully from branch to branch, avoiding those that had been damaged by the fire. He paused when a guard carrying a torch high up on the steps of Dragonsreach stopped. For a moment, the man just stood there and Brynjolf wondered if he had actually seen him. Then someone out of sight barked an order to stop lollygagging and the guard moved on. 'Luck'. Brynjolf grinned as he landed on the ground and darted up the steps of Jorrvaskr before retreating into the darkness that lined the bottom of the Skyforge.

From behind the back of the building, a man appeared. He was tall and broad and in the moonlight, his eyes had a telltale silver gleam. Brynjolf knew the stranger meant no harm but still, it was uncanny how the wolf managed to pick him out even with the shadows around him. Then, the soft grind of metal greeted his ears. Instinctively, Brynjolf's hand went to the Daedric daggers at his side and he spun to the right, the direction from which the sound had come.

"Bryn, it's us," Freyja hissed before she appeared in a soft shimmer of crimson blue. Behind her, Alduin materialised as well, wearing the same heavy armour that the thief had recognised earlier as belonging to the Blades. The irony was not lost on him, and it had to be entirely Freyja's doing.

"Not bad lass. If it hadn't been for him, you would have gotten the drop on me for once." And if looks could have killed, he knew he would have died several times over. But Freyja was standing between him and the fallen god, and Brynjolf had always had a good estimate of just how far he could push his luck.

"Bryn..."

"Just saying," he shrugged, holding his hands out.

"Are you ready?" Farkas interrupted.

"Yes, we most definitely are," she replied, sounding somewhat relieved.

To Brynjolf's surprise, the man placed his hand against a wall of stone that shuddered at his touch before shifting back inwards. 'It's a door,' Brynjolf realised. The craggy edges and speckled dark grey of the rock had helped to conceal it perfectly.

Dim lights shone inside and Brynjolf felt the hairs on his neck rise as he entered. He could feel a faint presence of something, a stirring in response to the influence of Nocturnal that he carried. It set him on edge and he half-expected Hircine to leap out of nowhere. Alduin didn't so much as spare him a glance; instead the man kept very close to Freyja.

"It's down that way." Farkas pointed to the right. "The tunnel leads out to a spot near the Battle-Born farm. Or rather, whatever remains of it now."

"Thank you Farkas." Freyja hesitated before turning to both him and Alduin. "You two go along first. I'll be right behind."

At first neither of them moved. Then, amazingly, Alduin did. Before plunging into the murky dark, he turned back to look at Freyja and then proceeded to silently threaten Farkas with a very impressive glare. Deciding that he had better leave as well, Brynjolf went down the tunnel. It smelled dank and vaguely like dog, which was entirely unsurprising, given who used it. It was also practically pitch black. A normal person might have broken a leg, if not his neck, but he spotted the edge of the ledge and dropped easily down from it. He stepped out into the night and stopped short. That huge black beast of a horse was already there. It stomped one leg on the ground and lowered its head menacingly. The ears were pinned back flat.

"He does know we're on Freyja's side, doesn't he?"

Alduin ignored him although he made sure to keep his sword hand resting on the hilt of his blade. Again, a feeling of disgruntlement arose and he suppressed it. Once upon a time it had been Gallus' blade. It was none of his business who Freyja gave or loaned it to. Then Shadowmere danced closer and Brynjolf found himself reaching for his daggers.

"Can't you all just get along without me for awhile?" She landed with a soft thud and brushing past both men, went straight for the horse that whickered and nuzzled her as she stroked its nose and neck. Brynjolf had to make a conscious effort to keep his mouth closed. Freyja was actually very fond of that unnatural steed with eyes the stuff that nightmares were made of. He had never thought to question her taste in companions, not when she had belonged only to Guild. Clearly things had changed, what with the Dark Brotherhood, her choice of mount and last but not least, her husband.

"There is somebody out there," Alduin suddenly said. "By the ruins of the farm."

"That would be a fellow thief with my ride actually." Leaving them behind, Brynjolf jogged quickly down the path. It had been a stroke of good fortune to have met a fellow purveyor of others' belongings just the day before and two strokes to have tracked the man down once Freyja had explained her escape plan. How the other had recognised him as a Nightingale was a complete mystery though, but it had undoubtedly helped with getting the man to agree to the task.

"Now there's a fine piece of horseflesh," he said as he took the reins from the thief. The chestnut stallion was large, though not as huge as Shadowmere, and strong.

"He's quite friendly too. So is she," the thief slapped the flank of the bay mare he rode. "But he's faster."

"You have my thanks."

"Remember me to our Dark Lady. Hail Nightingale!"

As the thief galloped away, Brynjolf busied himself with tying his packs to the horse's saddle. When he was done, he swung himself up. As Freyja came riding up with Alduin behind her in the saddle, his mount snorted nervously and backed several paces away but otherwise remained calm.

"Is that one of the Legates' horses?"

"It is indeed."

Freyja laughed. "I would pay money to see Skulnar's reaction. It's just too bad we have to leave now."

"By all means, lead the way."

* * *

><p>High on the battlements, Lydia and a Whiterun guard watched as the three riders disappeared into the night. "What do you think, Garrald? Do those look like bandits to you?<p>

The younger man nodded firmly. "Certainly. It just so happens that a nest of bandits is regrouping somewhere near the city. It has to be them."

"Then that is what we'll report to Legates Skulnar and Cipius two hours from now. Bandits stole their horses."

"What will we say when they demand to know where the Dragonborn has gone?"

Lydia shrugged. "How would we know? We've been on guard duty the whole night and all we saw were those bandits. Where were they heading again?"

The Dragonborn had been riding south. "Oh, I think they were going somewhere North," Garrald said.

"North it is then."


	51. Chapter 51

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Studios and I own nothing at all except for the OC and plot. There is no profit made at all, really.

Summary: Because there was a deeper, darker version of Dragonrend… Now Alduin must learn to live again, not as a devourer of worlds, but as a man...

Genre: Adventure/Humour

_A/N: Alrighty, one down and nine to go. That's right, I totally intend to wrap up Dragonrend in nine more chapters unless the Muse throws me to the floor in a smackdown. This update's coming quite soon on the heels of the previous one but I don't think I can keep up this pace. However, I aim to finish Dragonrend by October. Some ASOIAF shout-outs and a short line from one of my favourite poems. _

_Nykle: To quote argentorum, Lydia is a bae. Happysnail: Great to hear you'll be here all the way! As for Alduin going for marriage counselling, Freyja might have to drag him screaming and kicking all the way up the mountain. *L* AzhiD: Well, Brynjolf has a bigger role to play in coming chapters so I had to throw him into the mix. I'm glad you liked that decision though. And thanks for reviewing! Eisenfaust: Gah, thank you! Actually I did like that chapter personally; I felt it was one of the better ones. Once more, thank you! FloodFester: Ehehehe...well, we will see since the end draweth nigh anyway. And yes, Alduin does find everything annoying except for the DB. He's such a baby. Argentorum: That ending was a spur of the moment thingy actually. :) And yes, Lydia's like the BFF every woman needs. LissaRegan6: You are totally right about the comedic potential here. Unfortunately, things just took a darker turn than I expected..sigh...oh well. As for unexpected twists...I hope to serve up some really soon. AuroraNova: Confrontation with Paarthurnax coming up really soon, I promise. And thank you for complimenting my portrayal of Lydia. :) PintsizedSheBear: You know, one's an immortal super-horse and the other two are blimmin' hot. I'd trade places with her. *L* TheGodsOnlyKnow: Third parties suck yeah? In Bryn's defence though, it is totally platonic. Zute: Zute! LOL...blue eyeballs indeed. And thank you for your lovely review. It made me a bit wistful because you are spot-on when you wrote that this story is almost done. Halkuonn: My secret is that I sacrifice cows to Julianos. Just kidding! I'm quoting another reviewer (Dave, I believe) who left a totally hilarious review awhile ago. I just read and edit and try my best. And it's always lovely to know that you've enjoyed this so much. Thanks for leaving a review. Adamantineangel: Thank you and thank you! On days like these when I feel so drained and sometimes think I just don't want to write, reviews like yours are always there to give me a kick in the ass and get moving. Guest: Short but to the point. I like that! Thanks. Paladinofthelantern: Aw, thank you so much! And also for the encouragement. As for Alduin, feel free to imagine him looking anyway you want. That's completely up to you and none of my business. :) JohannaValhalla: You're welcome and thank you for giving me reasons to stay motivated! MegaMario6: We know. *L* Sorry, I couldn't pass that chance up. MissSouthernBelle: I'm so glad you let me know that! It did make my day. Thank you! Wanderer: Thanks! And also for leaving a review to let me know that you've been reading this and what you enjoy about it. Ragez: You're welcome! I hope you enjoy this chapter too. Forgotmypassword: Thanks so much! I do have some fan art links listed on my profile page. Do check those out if you haven't yet. SneakyDevil: Yes, it is. I'm both sad and glad actually. _

**DRAGONREND**

**LI.**

It was a hard and fast ride with the moons and stars to light the way back and beyond. The shining falls as they thundered alongside us, the winding path back up with Shadowmere effortlessly twisting and turning, the sound of Brynjolf gently coaxing his mount to step into the dark riverbed after the strange creature that it knew was no true horse. I would remember it all in the time that was to come after.

'If only we could have more light,' I thought as clouds scudded across the night sky. There was a splash behind followed by a soft whinny; Brynjolf's horse had stopped. Tugging on the reins, I brought Shadowmere to a halt. Riverwood looked deserted, but I had no doubt that there were lookouts posted. For the sake of secrecy, we had to keep off the main road and that meant skirting the steep cliffs and the river. A log floated past, dark and glistening, as Shadowmere moved aside. When the clouds had passed, we continued to pick our way carefully forward until the hunter's camp came into view. He slept, oblivious to our presence as the horses swam across and pulled themselves up the bank a dozen feet from him. It was his hound that watched us, its ears forward and head up, alert for any sign that its master was in danger.

Then it was up another winding path again, past the Standing Stones that seemed to watch as we went swiftly by. If I looked hard enough, I could have sworn I would have seen a tall grim Nord in blood splattered Imperial armour and behind him, an ash-stained woman who limped from an ankle twisted from the landing she made after jumping from a broken tower.

The surroundings were as silent as the ghosts of my past. In spite of the constant weaving in and amongst the tall shadowy pines with their moon-silvered tops, I felt myself grow sleepy. Then the distant sound of marching jerked me back into full wakefulness. "Over there," Alduin murmured low in my ear, a hand on my shoulder to shift me in the direction where the noise was coming from. Here, the land was once more uneven and above the rocky outcrop that blocked one's view of the main road, I could see the faint glow of torches. Ordinarily I would have just gone further back into the trees; unfortunately, we were on the wrong side of the road for such a move. The trees were just starting to thin and the skies were currently cloudless and heavy with stars. "More light indeed," I grumbled, applying pressure to Shadowmere's flanks as I sent him across the road at a fast walk. Anything swifter might have made sufficient noise to attract attention. Behind me, Brynjolf followed closely as we melted back into the darkness. Then, we stopped.

Down the cobbled path the soldiers came in their bronzed leathers and boots, armed with swords and spears. Here the air was cooler and most of them looked relatively fresh for men who must have been marching for a good number of hours. All of them looked grim. I had no doubt that they must have heard of how Whiterun had been saved by a dragon, and that the dragon had been on the side of the Dragonborn. No doubt some of them were wondering if they were walking all the way to Whiterun only to taste dragonfire. Injured pride and fury must have driven Skulnar to sanction such an arrest. I had not encountered all the Legates of Skyrim, but I hoped the majority would be far more sensible.

We waited until the last sounds faded, watched as the glow of the torches grew fainter and fainter until it was no more. "I think that should be it," Brynjolf said quietly. "We'd best be on our way before Horse here eats all the grass around us." The stallion's ears flicked forward but he continued munching contently on the contents in his mouth. Shadowmere snorted disdainfully.

" 'Horse' again? You need to find better names for your steeds," I remarked as we came out o onto the open road.

"Whatever for? It's not like I keep any of them anyway. 'Horse' is entirely appropriate and you can't go too wrong with it."

Behind me, it was Alduin's turn to snort disdainfully. Without waiting to see if Brynjolf was going to respond, I tapped Shadowmere's side with my heel and he moved off into a swift canter. At this hour of the night, the road was deserted. I kept a wary eye out for bandits that might accost us but if there had been any, the marching contingent must have frightened them away, at least long enough for us to travel most of the way to Helgen without being harassed.

Since the ruined settlement was now a bandit stronghold, the plan had been to ride in as closely as we could without being spotted by a lookout and then using the Thu'um, create a distraction that would allow us to skirt the wooden walls of the compound and make a quick getaway. "Those soldiers that passed us," Alduin said as I slowed Shadowmere to a trot, "they sported no injuries and neither did they look as though they had been through a skirmish of any sort."

I turned back to look at him and tried not to see how the moons seemed to wind themselves into the darkness of his hair or how they failed soften the sharp edges of his face. There was ruthlessness in such beauty; it took no prisoners and only a fool would tarry. 'More fool you,' I thought and bit the inside of my cheek.

"Is it not necessary for them to have passed through Helgen first?"

He was right. "It is. I missed that completely."

His hands on my waist tightened. "Something else on your mind?"

In the distance, Helgen loomed pale and broken. There were no lights, not even in the outermost watchtower that was visible to us. "You know what it is, for it is in yours as well."

He might have said more, but Brynjolf pulled up next to us although his stallion made sure it kept a relatively wide berth from Shadowmere. I could see the whites of its eyes but it obeyed the commands of its rider; at least the Imperials knew how to train their horses, I had to give them that. "The place looks deserted. You did say the Legion has been garrisoning soldiers at another fort nearby. Perhaps they've cleaned out this nest."

There was only one way to make sure that we weren't riding into a trap. The Thu'um went out, a red whisper that plucked at any traces of life it could find. A fox and her cubs on the rocky ridges above us, some goats that were grazing on the snow-touched grass higher up on the hillside. Somewhere much farther away on the other side, a sabre cat lay quietly amidst the thick foliage, unnoticed by the four men or women huddled around what must have been a fire. Helgen though remained void of any people. There were numerous smaller life forms though, clustered in batches amongst the walls and towers. I swallowed, and it wasn't entirely because of the low burn of the Thu'um in my throat.

As we rode in, a low wind caught the doors of the opened gate, moving them on rusted hinges that moaned and sobbed softly, paradoxically thickening the silence. Everything that remained standing was testament to a dragon's fury. The smashed houses, the snapped slates with their raw black edges and charred walls that reminded me so much of human bones. Rubble stirred in the wind, fine grey that scattered itself over burnt ground. I glimpsed the keep to which I had fled and tasted afresh some of the terror which had given my limbs strength, that had sent me fleeing through smoke and fire after Hadvar as we ran for our lives while the world fell down around us.

I wondered what Alduin remembered as he sat behind me, tall and silent in the saddle. He had been more of a god then.

Up ahead, Brynjolf came to a stop. When he looked back at me, I knew it for a warning. He had lived at least fifteen more winters than I had, or so he claimed, and he had suffered losses and betrayals that went as deep as those I knew. But he had always been one for easy smiles and laughter, a quick quip and a firm quiet word. Brynjolf, Vex had grumbled, was irrepressibly optimistic. It was rare to see him look this grim.

Then I saw why and I knew my expression mirrored his. The archway leading to the keep was lined with a row of gibbets and the dead reached out to us through the bars. Although encased in iron and leather, the flesh that remained stunk and the smell hung heavy in the air here; the fingers though had been picked clean and they were white, so white in the dim shadows. Tiny shining eyes stared out at us from the empty sockets of several skulls. Whatever had eaten those people alive was still living inside them.

The message was clear to any bandits looking to reoccupy Helgen: the Legion did not show mercy.

* * *

><p>The horse did not want to go too far into the cave. However, a combination of exhaustion and the tempting offer of some very sweet-smelling hay eventually persuaded the animal to go inside. That, and the fact that Shadowmere had opted to stay outside in the snowstorm that had suddenly descended.<p>

Alduin watched as Freyja and Brynjolf rubbed the stallion down while it ate by the light of the bobbing nimbus that she had cast. There was no fire; here in the crude narrow pass which men in bygone eras had carved, there was precious little kindling to be found, save for the occasional bush that yielded blood-red snowberries which he recognised from the mountains of Falkreath.

When the horse had been seen to, they joined him wordlessly. The bedrolls had been spread out and now knapsacks were opened as they chewed on dried strips of beef. They had ridden on until the skies above turned grey, until the ache in his thighs seemed to be as much a part of him as the flesh he wore. It was hard to tell time though. The sun could not be seen and whatever light there was had been filtered through thick swelling clouds that hung low overhead. Between that and the steep walls that rose on and on until his eye could no longer see them, it was suffocating.

"I'll take the first watch." Brynjolf stood, grabbed the thick fur cloak fashioned from a bear's pelt and moved off to plant himself closer to the entrance. Huddled against the side of the cave, he seemed to blend in with the shadows. Outside, the snow beat down hard in a dazzling white flurry.

Finishing one last strip of meat, Alduin wiped his hand on the edge of the thick fur cloak Freyja had insisted on swaddling him in and strapped the gauntlet back on. Across from him, the Dragonborn was rummaging around in her pack. With every step they took towards the Monahven, his hope grew, a fierce and wild thing that could no longer be quelled or restrained. Even if Paarthurnax's disciples lacked the knowledge to undo the chains that bound him, his traitorous kin surely had some insights to offer. Alduin dropped his gaze to the edged pommel of the Nightingale blade. He imagined its sharp blade between his brother's eyes.

That particular fantasy evaporated when Freyja held out an apple to him. He took it and in an unspoken invitation, shifted to make space for her on the bedroll. The furs whispered against each other as she sat down beside him. At least she was shivering less now. He felt the weight of the apple in his hand and knew he would not eat it. He was too full with excitement and more than a little trepidation.

"Have you considered my offer?" he asked softly.

She acted as though she had not heard him, choosing instead to eye the apple he held. Then she turned to look up at him and even in the darkness he read her as clearly as if they had been surrounded by warm sunlight. He saw Helgen in her blue eyes.

"I am the Dragonborn, Alduin. I... cannot."

Sweetness pierced the cold stale air. He had broken the skin of the apple, bruised it with his grip. "That wreck we left behind was born of my rage, I do not deny that. But it does not define who I am and what I must do."

"You are the god of destruction."

"I am as my father Akatosh made me, as you are Dovahkiin." His voice was low but the words were fierce. "The prophecy casts me in the light of disaster and foolish songs sung in tavern halls would name me evil—"

The hard smile that twisted her face stopped him. "You enslaved people. You let your priests and dragons commit all manner of atrocities. You committed atrocities. You..." She clamped her lips together until they became a white blaze, until she swallowed the words she originally meant to say. "You may not have known better then but that does not absolve you."

Freyja had shown him mortals in a way that he had never known them. The way he felt about her was a chain around his neck that he learned to wear because she had made him something else, forever different in a way that went beyond the Thu'um. The sight of the bones in Valthume had shaken him, shaken the truth as he had known it. It had not given him a new truth to live by.

Still, there were things he now knew which he could share. "That was a mistake."

His confession shocked her visibly. "What?"

Instead of immediately replying he took his time, leaned back against the uneven wall, let the words soak in over her. "I was never meant to rule. That was not my destiny." He held her with his gaze. "It is duty now that I mean to complete."

"Duty." She licked her lips, her breath pale in the air.

"Yes. The destruction I bring is not what the people imagine it to be. They think me a god who devours all to satiate my hunger." He realised he was crushing the apple further and set it aside. "There is no truth in that."

"What is the truth?"

"I gave you my memories in a dream. You experienced this world when it first began." The sharp sweet scent of earth, the seas of green forests, the blue of the oceans, the sharp white crowns of mountains. Vast deserts of red golden sands that met the sky in a horizon that you could fly to but never reach but would try anyway because the flight was a reward in itself. Light and sound and a thousand thousand heartbeats where there had been nothing. "All things must end, so that the next can come to pass."

She was beginning to understand now although she did not want to. He wondered if she even knew that she was shaking her head ever so slightly.

"The god of destruction, yes. But in my wake I leave the seeds of new life. Only death pays for life." There was no comfort in the touch he gave her now. "Save this world and you murder the other even before it is in its infancy."

She shoved his hand away. "That's not true. That other world hasn't even begun—"

"The new world ought to be but it is not and if you deny it that right, do you not take life? This world was not meant to see so many years. Its time was over even before the rebellion against my kingdom. But I would not accept it. Now though, I have a chance to set things right."

She said nothing and in that deep pause, he heard her pain, sensed the doubt that he had planted taking root. "Then why am I here?" Even though stricken, there was steel in her yet.

Because she was his, his in exchange for all that he had given up and would continue giving up. Something of that must have shown in his face because Freyja's eyes widened as she sucked in a sharp quivering breath. "To stop me," he replied as he watched her so very carefully. "It was not my greed that destroyed this world but kept it alive long past its due date. I wanted something of my own, something to keep after an eternity of laying waste to existence." She held herself stock still as he touched her face, traced the scar on her cheek. "Perhaps that is why my father sent you, so that I will never again be tempted. With you, I want no world."

* * *

><p>It was their second night in the pass and Brynjolf estimated that they would reach Ivarstead by evening the following day. Yesterday's snowstorm had howled itself out and thankfully, in the hours that followed, they suffered nothing less than the endless cold and occasional light snow. All in all, excellent progress had been made and while he had no doubt that the beleaguered Imperial troops were behind them, there was really little to no chance of the latter catching up unless Skulnar and Cipius wanted their men to perish from exhaustion.<p>

What worried Brynjolf was Freyja. When he had taken that first watch, his intention had been to let her spend some time with Alduin and hopefully talk the god out of wanting to destroy life as all of them knew it. Since then though, she had been mostly silent and deep in thought; even Alduin left her alone.

At the moment, he was supposed to be sleeping but after what seemed like an hour of tossing and turning, he gave up the fight and went to join Freyja, who was keeping watch by the fire. Only, she wasn't there. He scrambled to his feet.

The dark-skinned Redguard huntress whose camp they were sharing looked up at him and silently pointed further up the road. There was no point in asking her why Freyja had gone; she would not have told the woman. Pulling his hood back up, Brynjolf reflexively checked both daggers to ensure they were securely in their sheaths. Then, he went after the Dragonborn. The fact that her horse was gone too was not lost on him.

With the mountain on either side hemming him in, everything was that much darker. The snowfall that covered the road was the brightest thing around and even then it was a shade more than dim. He stayed close to one rocky side, trusted in Nocturnal not to let him put a foot astray. Icicles like ice fangs glistened overhead as he passed beneath the rocky outcrops they clung to.

Just before he rounded a bend, he heard it. A thick gurgling sound almost like weeping accompanied by the rasp of something armoured that dragged itself along the ground. It raised the hairs on his neck and arms, made him draw his blades as he walked towards it. Then he stopped short.

Freyja stood over a Thalmor soldier whose armour was dark with blood that was gushing from so many wounds that he didn't know where to begin counting. His gaze met the elf's as her blade came down. There was the slightest ripping sound as the sword sighed through flesh and bone. The head rolled, its green eyes still open as it went bouncing down into darkness, the sound of it ringing in Brynjolf's ears long after it faded.

"Lass?" He shivered. Since when had the air turned so bitterly cold?

She flicked her blade free of excess blood before sliding it back into its sheath. Shadowmere came up from behind, seemingly out of nowhere and Brynjolf saw that the snow under its hooves was marked with red prints. Thalmor always travelled in parties of three and he could say quite safely that the other two were as dead as the one Freyja had killed.

"You shouldn't be here," she said harshly. He couldn't see her eyes because of the hood but for a moment, long shadows like fingers stretched over her face. Then she reached out for Shadowmere's bridle and he blinked, wondering if he had imagined it.

"What was that?" he demanded, following her. As he did, he realised he was still holding his daggers. For a moment, he hesitated before putting them away. This was Freyja. No matter what, it was still her. "What was that?" He grabbed her arm, Shadowmere reared and Freyja was pushing the horse away, snarling at him to stand down.

"That was repayment. For contracts I have stopped taking. And for what happened in Bravil."

He wanted to ask more but sensed the answers would come anyway. Shadowmere lifted his lips and growled in a manner that no normal horse was capable of. It sounded almost akin to the sounds bears made. "The riots were used as a cover-up. The Thalmor had heard rumours of a source of power beneath the Lucky Old Lady. They saw to it that the rioters destroyed the statue. And when the fighting had shifted to other parts of the city, they went down and found the Night Mother's children guarding her." She cocked her head to the side, as though she was hearing a voice he could not. "They burned the Listener Alisanne Dupre alive. I smelled her, burning in my dreams. I heard them laughing as she died. They meant to take the bride of Sithis as a pawn for themselves." She tugged Shadowmere along as she began walking back to the camp. "She always tells me when they are near, always. So I hunt them, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptised in blood and fear."

She looked back at him over her shoulder and he knew then that there were some things that he could not save her from or help her with. He let her go first, stood there in the cold as the snow started falling once more.


End file.
